


Temporary Husbands

by OTPmorelike2000truepairings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 26,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPmorelike2000truepairings/pseuds/OTPmorelike2000truepairings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is involved in a huge misunderstanding. A coworker believes he is married, and the man plans to stay the week at his house. Now the British Government needs a temporary husband, and fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Mycroft Holmes sat in the privacy of his office, eyes wide as he re-read the email from an associate he had received this morning. The man, who was basically the Argentinian Government, had contacted the Queen about an alliance between Britain and Argentina, and thus it had been shuffled off to Mycroft. 

Dear Mr. Mycroft Holmes,  
Thank you for extending a hand of friendship to me and my countrymen. As per our earlier correspondence, my wife and I will be arriving in London next week to discuss a potential alliance between our two countries. We would like to thank you for the opportunity to stay with you during this time, and very much appreciate you going above and beyond your duty to your country by opening your home to us. We will enjoy meeting you and your spouse, and to collaborate with you on this agreement between our countries.  
Thank you,  
Felipe Santiago 

This email was concerning to Mycroft for a number of reasons. First and foremost, he had never invited the man and his wife to stay in his home. Unfortunately it would appear rude to correct the man, and would not bode well for the rest of the potential alliance. Thus, the man and his wife would be his guests for a week. 

The second, more alarming, misunderstanding was that of his marital status. Yes, he did wear a ring on his finger, but that was so no one tried to flirt with him, an experience he could admit to himself made him feel slightly uncomfortable. So then, he needed a woman who understood that he was not in need of a relationship, simply a temporary marriage. 

"Anthea?"

His secretary strode into his office, fingers typing incessantly at her phone. "Yes, sir?"

"Have you read the email from politician Felipe Santiago?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you are aware I am in need of a temporary spouse. Will you fill the position?"

"No, sir."

Mycroft's sharp eyes quickly deduced what she did not say. "You started a new relationship a week ago and believe it too fragile to withstand a temporary marriage."

Anthea still doesn't look up from her phone. "Yes, sir."

"You are one of the only women I know I would be comfortable with assuming an intimate relationship with, Anthea. Your fragile relationship is inconvenient."

"You only say that because you don't know many women, sir."

"Yes. All of my coworkers are unable to play the role, they already believe me to be married. Yet outside of work, I do not socialize with women."

"Argentina is very accepting of homosexual relationships, sir."

"Yes, they are, but seeing as how I can literally count my unmarried male acquaintances that are not my coworkers on one hand, I don't see how that does me much good, either."

"What about John Watson, sir? He has the 'for King and country' mindset that could entice him to begin a temporary relationship with you."

"But then I would have to explain why my husband is running off to play detective with his brother-in-law."

"True. Alright, what about Sherlock's Detective Inspector Lestrade? He has the same beneficial mindset as John Watson, and has been divorced six months. Furthermore, your intelligence placed him as having bisexual tendencies, even if he doesn't act upon them."

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Yes, he could be a good choice indeed. He has tact, patience to deal with a Holmes, and has been nothing short of accommodating in the past. I shall visit him immediately to proposition him. Call the car, Anthea."


	2. New Scotland Yard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you followed my comments to people, I planned differently now. This is Mycroft visiting Greg at work. The next chapter will be Greg's reaction to Mycroft's idea.

Mycroft Holmes strode purposefully into the New Scotland Yard. "You," he called to Sally Donovan, "I need to speak with Detective Inspector Lestrade immediately."

"I'm sorry, he's not available."

Mycroft gives the woman a 'I am the British Government, you WILL do as I say' look. Apparently it works somewhat, because the woman has the grace to look uncomfortable. 

"Look, you can stay out here and wait for him, if you want. He's busy. The Freak already snuck in, and-"

"And by The Freak you mean Sherlock of course? Tell me, Sergeant Donovan, are you aware that the man you verbally abuse is my brother?"

"How do you know me?" the woman whispers, afraid of the stranger who seems to know her. "I've never seen you before."

"I know everything about everyone Sherlock is involved with."

"Everything?" Now she sounds skeptical. 

Mycroft smirks. "Everything. Your grades in school, your friends-then and now-your relationship with your married partner, and the fact that one time you were drunk and would've been arrested for disorderly conduct if it hadn't been for the detective inspector. Excuse me." 

He waltzes past her, swinging his umbrella just enough that she will be hit with it if she tries to stop him. 

"Hey! I already told you that you can't go in there!"

Mycroft pays the obnoxious woman no heed. His keen ears catch the sound of shouting, and he recognizes his brother's voice. He pushes the door open to the detective inspector's office, ready to lambaste Sherlock for his verbal abuse of Mycroft's (if all goes well) soon-to-be temporary husband. 

Instead, he enters the office to a woman's shrieking. "Shut up, you ungrateful chit! If it wasn't for Greg, you'd be dead or out somewhere getting high! And you're not involved in this conversation!" Gregory's ex-wife turns to him, tone instantly nicer. "Greggy, I need extra money to care for the children." Lestrade visibly flinches at the nickname. 

Sherlock opens his mouth, but Mycroft speaks first. "Correction, you need the money in order to impress your most recent boyfriend. It is certainly not Lestrade's fault that you are living well beyond your means. Furthermore, attempting to solicit funds can result in your arrest. I suggest you leave immediately and do not return. I would also suggest Lestrade take out a restraining order, if you insist upon shouting at the man while he's attempting to work, because both the man and his co-workers deserve better than your screeching and my brother's insults in the same day. Good day, madam." Thus saying, he shoves the woman out the door into the startled arms of Sergeant Donovan. 

Lestrade looks exhausted. "Thanks Sherlock, Mr. Holmes." 

"Did you get the rest of my deduction written before that woman burst in?" Sherlock questions. 

"Yes, thank you." Sherlock sweeps out of the office, ignoring Mycroft completely. 

Lestrade turns back to his paperwork, then glances up to realize Mycroft did not leave with his brother. "Did you want something?"

Mycroft studies him. The detective inspector looks aged, brow wrinkled and frown lines evident from the fight with his ex-wife. The wrinkles of his shirt tell Mycroft he hadn't had lunch, though it's nearing seven. Mycroft suddenly realizes that this is neither the right time nor place to speak to Lestrade. 

"May I suggest we go to dinner?"

Now Lestrade looks suspicious. "Why?"

"Because you have not eaten recently, and you could use the break."

Sally barges in, having been eavesdropping. "Go home sir," she says to her superior. "We'll file your paperwork."

"Thanks, Sally."

"I don't want to see you tomorrow, either." 

"But Sally-"

"Don't you 'but Sally' me. You haven't had a day off since you got divorced six months ago. You're not a machine, you need a break."

Lestrade huffs a sigh, but tugs on his jacket. "Fine. Thanks. I'll be more sincere when I get back two days from now." He laughs. 

"So, what did you have in mind for dinner?" Lestrade asks. 

Instead of answering, Mycroft opens his car door, lets the detective inspector climb in, and gets in beside him, texting his driver a suitable restaurant to propose his idea.


	3. Propositioning Gregory

Mycroft ushered the detective inspector into the restaurant, though he promptly walked into the man as he froze inside the doorway. Lestrade turns to him with an odd expression on his face. If Mycroft didn't know better, he'd say the detective inspector was afraid. 

"Mr. Holmes, I can't eat here!" 

"Don't be ridiculous, you're my guest. We are dining here tonight." 

" I can't afford this! One bite of a meal probably costs more than I make in a month! And my shirt has wrinkles!" Lestrade hisses the word 'wrinkles' the way someone else might say 'lice.' 

Mycroft stares the man down, giving him the exact same look he gave John Watson on the night they met, when he had requested to see John's hand. "Lestrade. You over exaggerate the price of the food, which is irrelevant because I will pay for it. And I wouldn't have brought you here if I considered your shirt too wrinkly for viewing pleasure."

"You don't have to buy my meal. Just because I'm divorced doesn't mean I can't support myself," he groused. 

"Paying for a guest when you invited them is simply good manners, Lestrade."

"Greg, please. And fine, but next time I'm taking you out."

Mycroft settles back into his seat, carefully keeping his face a mask. Inside, he is rejoicing. Gregory wants there to be a next time, which means he will most likely be amenable to Mycroft's proposition. The waitress comes by, and Mycroft and Gregory order. 

"Would you stop that?"

"Hmmm," Mycroft replies noncommittally. 

"You're kind of creeping me out, staring at me and not saying anything. Or are you deducing my past week, including everything I had to eat those days?"

"I've already deduced you Gregory, but not quite to that extent."

"Call me Greg, please."

"No. It's a hideous shortening of your name. Gregory sounds majestic, noble, and distinguished, a name which suits you rather well. I shall persist in calling you your legal name, Gregory." Mycroft wonders for a moment if he's come on too strong-mainly because Gregory's eyes widen and he settles a bit further back in his chair- but ultimately decides that seeing as how he's hoping Gregory will want to pretend to be married to him, he is fine with a slight bit of flirting. 

Greg goes to answer, but the waitress interrupts him before he can begin by placing the food in front of them. Any response Greg was going to make is quickly lost as he begins eating. 

After a companionable silence (during which Greg finished his entire meal, and Mycroft had three bites of his own plus two glasses of water to maintain his diet), Greg speaks again. "So, why were you in my office today? Need me to keep an eye on Sherlock for a bit?"

Instead of answering, Mycroft uncorks the bottle of wine and pours some for both himself and Gregory. "I find myself in need of your help," Mycroft confesses. 

Gregory grins, a quick flash of white. "I actually deduced that much on my own, believe it or not," he replies. 

"Gregory, what I am about to request of you goes far beyond the reach of anything I have ever requested before."

"Now you have me nervous. Just say it, please."

"Gregory, I need you to marry me."

Gregory spews his wine, coughing and spluttering. Instead of answering Mycroft, he grabs the wine bottle and studies it like he will find the solution written there. "How much alcohol is in this?" Mycroft hears Gregory mutter to himself. 

"You're not drunk, Gregory."

Greg is shaking his head in denial. "No. I must be drunk. Because I think I just heard-no. That's ridiculous, never mind." He turns his gaze to Mycroft, eyes pleading. "Can you repeat whatever you just said? I clearly heard you wrong."

"You heard correctly."

"YOU WANT TO MARRY ME??!!" At Gregory's shout, the entire restaurant turns to stare at them. 

"Gregory, please calm down. People are staring."

"Maybe you better explain," Greg says faintly. And so Mycroft does. He explains the entire situation, how the man will be in his house for the week, how he needs a temporary spouse, and why he chose Gregory rather than a woman. 

"So all you need is a husband for a week?"

"Yes. I will of course be prepared to compensate you monetarily for the inconvenience."

"No. I don't need your money. I didn't need it when you wanted me to spy on Sherlock, and I don't need it now. But yes, I will help you."

"Would you like me to propose now?"

Gregory gapes like a goldfish. "Sorry, what?"

"We're beginning a faux relationship in which we are expected to be married. I took the liberty of procuring a ring for you. I will keep the one I already wear, but I thought you should have one too."

Gregory looks startled, but allows Mycroft to settle the ring on his finger. 

"Thank you, Gregory. The free world, and I myself, are forever in your debt."

The moment is interrupted by Gregory's phone chiming. He glances at it, then frowns. "My ex forgot to pick up our son after the football game. I have to go. Um, I have off tomorrow. Would you want to go on a date? Well, not actually a date, but like, so I know more about you and what to expect with this whole crazy plot of yours." Mycroft smiles a tiny smile of amusement at him, which stops Greg. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Yes, but don't worry, it's natural for you when you're nervous. Go get your son, Gregory."

Mycroft watches the man go with a faint smile. All was going right. He would visit the forger tomorrow, gaining the papers he needed to temporarily marry Gregory Lestrade. Then he and Gregory would have all the needed props for their upcoming performance.


	4. First Date

The next morning, Greg is puttering around the kitchen cooking eggs. "Hey, dad," his son greets as he enters the kitchen. 

"Morning. Eggs are almost ready."

His son takes a seat at the table. "You look good, Dad. Going into work today?"

"No. Sally bullied me into a day off."

"Good. I'll have to thank Sally." Greg carries the eggs over to the table. His son smiles impishly then says, "So you got a hot date tonight?"

Greg doesn't answer. 

"Because you are wearing a nice shirt, a tie, and have your hair styled better than you have for probably the last five years." Seeing Greg's angry look, he throws up his hands. "Hey, I learned something from Sherlock when he stayed with us."

"Is my hair really that bad?"

"'Course not, Dad. Not even the gray looks bad. It's just nice to see you have someone to make an effort for. After the divorce, I was worried you wouldn't move on. So it's nice to see you like this."

"I'm temporarily dating a man," Greg says. He's glad his son is so supportive, but figures he wants to get all his cards out on the table. 

"Yeah? So am I. Only it's not temporary."

"I'm dating Sherlock's brother," he added. "Wait a second. You're gay?"

"Yes, dad. Mom already knows. She's not supportive." 

Greg snorts. 

"Sherlock's brother? He look anything like Sherlock?"

Greg shrugs. "Not really. He's more distinguished. Tall like Sherlock, smart like Sherlock, but he has better people skills."

"He attractive?"

"Doesn't matter. It's a temporary arrangement."

His son gives him a knowing smile. "He is, then. Good Dad. I'm happy for you. When can I meet him?"

"We're only dating for the next two weeks because he needs to be married for some alliance he's trying to make. You don't need to meet him."

Their doorbell rings, and Greg answers it. To his surprise, Mycroft is standing on the other side of the door, not his secretary. 

"Good morning, Gregory. Are you ready to go on our date?"

"Actually no. I have to do the dishes." 

"I'll do them, Dad. I'm in university now, I can wash a few dishes." Behind the door, he flashes his dad a thumbs up and mouths he's cute! Greg feels his face turn red. "Bye, Dad!"  
............................................................  
Mycroft has his driver drop them off at a park, where he and Gregory wander around for a while. 

"Do you want to have sex?" Gregory blurts. 

Mycroft freezes. His mind begins whirling, trying to answer. 

"Like, is that a part of being married that we have to do? Because if it is, you should know that I've never had sex with a man. I've never even kissed a man."

"No, I think we can skip the sex. And don't worry, I've never kissed anyone before, much less a man."

"How affectionate should we be? Do you want to hold hands? Hug? Do you cuddle on the couch? Should we kiss? Do you want to make out?"

"Whatever you want, Gregory. If you prefer to hold hands, we can. If you want to kiss me, do so. We are expected to be married, a bit of physical contact would not be remiss."

Greg nods in agreement, and holds out his hand. It takes Mycroft a moment, but then he realizes Gregory is offering to hold his hand. He links their fingers together, smirking smugly. 

"We should probably get used to a bit of physical contact now," Gregory says in way of explanation. 

Mycroft nods. "Anthea and I were speaking last night. It might be beneficial to move you in to my house now, to have you acclimated to it before my coworker comes." 

"Oh, okay. I'll pack my stuff tonight."

"I already sent workers over to pack things for you. That might have been a bit presumptuous, and for that I apologize. I also took the liberty of getting us a marriage certificate. I had you keep your name, because I think we can claim that we did that so you wouldn't be targeted to get to me."

"Makes sense," Gregory agrees. 

It starts to pour rain, causing Mycroft to put up his ever-present umbrella. "Let's go home, Gregory," he calls over the pounding rain, leading them to the car.


	5. Mycroft's house

Mycroft's home was as ostentatious as Greg expected, if he had actually spent time considering where the man lived. That is to say, he lived in a four-story "house" on the outskirts of London that was better qualified as a mansion.

"Come, Gregory," Mycroft calls. He passes Greg a key. "This will be yours." Greg steps into a beautiful foyer. There's a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The woodwork is dark, but is contrasted by the light green walls, so it doesn't look too dark. 

Mycroft begins taking him on a tour of the house. Greg pulls out a notepad and starts writing, mainly the important details like where to find a bathroom (in every bedroom plus next to the foyer and exercise room) or where the kitchen is (first floor, next to the living room and dining room). 

About an hour later, Mycroft leads him into a final room. "This is your study," he tells Greg. 

"My study?" Greg repeats, dumbfounded. "I've never had a study. I just stay at work and file papers."

"I thought it made sense for you to relocate for the next two weeks. You can do your paperwork from here."

Mycroft glances around the room, trying to see it from Gregory's perspective. The room is light, a cheerful light yellow color. All of the woodwork is white, making Mycroft think of a sunny day. The window behind the oak desk (the only piece of wood in the entire room that is not white) is huge, covered by white curtains. He's set up this room for Gregory, placing the Detective Inspector's laptop and a new chair in the room. A few of the man's files have made their way into the nearby cabinet. It's something Mycroft would like, but does Gregory? 

"You bought me a wheely chair!"

"Yes," Mycroft agrees, unsure of Gregory's point. 

"Can you leave for a minute?" 

Mycroft feels a little confused, but does as requested. 

No sooner does Mycroft close the door than he hears the sound of the chair flying across the floor, followed by, "This is awesome!"

Gregory pulls the door open, smile on his face. "Okay, I'm done now." 

"Would you like lunch now?"

"Doesn't matter." Gregory dutifully follows Mycroft down to the kitchen, watching as he begins preparing food. The whole time Mycroft cooks he is silent. Mycroft glances at the man subtly, but can't deduce what he's thinking. 

"Gregory, are you alright?"

This seems to pull Gregory from his thoughts. "Fine. Just thinking. Slightly overwhelmed about what's coming."

Mycroft carries the meal to the table, and brings Gregory a plate, silverware, and a glass of water. 

"Where's yours," Gregory demands as Mycroft pulls out his chair. 

"I'm not eating. I'm on a diet."

"For what? You're not fat!"

"You're kind to say so, Gregory."

"I'm not saying that to make conversation, Mycroft. You're not overweight. Please eat."

Mycroft huffs, serves himself a very small portion, and eats. Gregory frowns, but lets it go. 

"Would you like to watch a movie?" Mycroft asks once Gregory finished. 

"Yes, but don't you have work to do? I don't want to cause an international crisis because I took you away from work."

"No crisis at the moment. I took off to spend today with you."  
……........................................................  
Mycroft smiles a bit as he looks down at Gregory sleeping. They had watched movies most of the afternoon. Gregory had started on the opposite end of the couch, but once the movies had started had slowly inched closer, eventually sliding an arm around Mycroft. Then his head had started to lag forward, and he fell asleep. 

Unfortunately, Mycroft knows he needs to wake Gregory before the man develops back pain. "Gregory, wake up," he calls softly. 

Gregory rolls over, and falls off Mycroft's lap. He lets out a grunt of pain and sits up, smacking his head on the couch, and slumping unconscious. 

Mycroft texts Anthea. 'Bring John to my house immediately. It's an emergency. -MH'

Gregory stays unconscious until John arrives. John crouches down on the floor, glancing for a moment at Mycroft curiously before turning his attention to his patient. He slowly revives Greg, who is groggy. 

"Well, this is embarrassing. Not every day you get called for me passing out, right John? I'd make a lovely damsel in distress."

John rolls his eyes. "Shut up, Greg."

"Seriously though. Just call me Sleeping Beauty." He eyes John with mock suspicion. "You didn't kiss me awake, did you?"

"Yes Greg, totally," John jokes. "We made out, too."

"Shame I don't remember, then," he falls silent for a moment, then says, "Besides, I wanted Mycroft to be my first kiss." Another, lengthier pause, then Greg says "John, you should probably back up," and proceeds to vomit all over the Oriental rug on the floor. 

"Definitely a concussion," John says, rubbing Greg's back comfortingly. "Come on buddy, let's get you to bed." Mycroft scoops Gregory into his arms before John can touch him, which has the added benefit of making Gregory vomit again, this time all over Mycroft's Italian leather shoes. 

"I thought concussed people weren't supposed to sleep?" Mycroft questions as he carries Gregory. 

"New research," John explains. "Turns out sleep is the best thing for them. Also, you can tell him I'm dropping a note to Sally. He's not to work for the next two days."

"I will."

Mycroft can tell John is struggling with the next statement. His eyebrows twitch repetitively, and a muscle in his jaw jumps. "Why did Greg say he wanted you to be his first kiss?"

Mycroft shrugs, holding eye contact and maintaining an unaffected facade so John doesn't realize how Gregory's words have thrilled him. 

John helps him get Gregory settled into a spare bedroom, and then he goes to leave. 

"John? Not a word of this to Sherlock."

"What don't you what him to know about? The relationship you and Greg have, or me coming here to care for Greg?"

"Both."

John laughs. "He already knows I'm here. I won't mention Greg is here too, though."

"Thank you, John. For everything."

John nods, and heads out to the black car to go home.


	6. Sherlock

Greg woke up and blinked as he looked around, confused. He had no idea where he was, and his head hurt. He was pretty sure he didn't have a hangover because the pain in his head was different. After a moment, Greg remembered he was in Mycroft's mansion, preparing to play as his spouse for an alliance. 

He pulled himself out of bed, searching through drawers for his clothes. A cursory glance told him they were empty. This was fairly frustrating, because he wanted to shower. He took a quick sniff. Yep, definitely needed a shower. 

He dug through the closet next. Mycroft said he had had his employees bring Greg's things, but they didn't seem to be in the room. After searching a few more minutes, he decides to worry about clothes after he gets out of the shower. 

Afterward, he still can't find his clothes. He considered going out to find them, but there's no guarantee he would find them, and he's not comfortable enough with Mycroft to consider walking around his house in a towel. 

He finally decides to re-wear his dirty clothes, pulling them on. A quick sniff confirms he smells better but not clean, a fact which Greg remedies by using the cologne in on the bathroom sink. Then he heads down to the kitchen. 

Mycroft isn't around, and Greg isn't sure if he's at work already or still sleeping, so he makes himself breakfast, scribbles a quick note to Mycroft to let the man know he went to work, and heads out the door. 

Once at work, Greg's day quickly goes from bad to worse. To start out with, apparently he missed a whole day due to his concussion. He had lots of paperwork to file, and was struggling to make sense of the little squiggles he knew were words. Greg had literally never been happier for a murder in all his life. 

Of course, because life was feeling cruel to Greg today, it wasn't easy to solve. So Greg had to call Sherlock. 

Sherlock strutted onto the scene, instantly rattling deductions. John is listening raptly, interjecting a "Brilliant," occasionally. Greg is simply trying his hardest to look like he's paying attention, slumping against his police car for support. 

Sherlock finally turns to him. "Could you do us all the decency of staying awake, Lestrade?" He snaps. "It's hardly my fault you were up late procreating with my brother."

Greg stares at Sherlock, confused. "I'm not procreating with Mycroft," he answers. 

"Don't lie. You've worn the same clothes two days in a row, as evidenced by the set of the wrinkles and the slight stain from yesterday's coffee. You reek of his cologne, more than likely you procreated again before leaving for work and now you're trying to hide it."

"I'm not-" Greg begins, but apparently Sherlock isn't finished, because he talks over Greg. 

"You were married, Detective Inspector! Is this how you moved up the ranks? You got into my brother's good graces?" 

Greg sucks in a breath, wanting desperately to punch Sherlock, but knowing he couldn't because he would get in trouble for assault. Thankfully, John quite literally beats him to the punch. 

Sherlock reeled back, holding his bloody nose. "Don't talk to Lestrade like that! Anyway, whatever happened to 'I know it's fine' about being gay?"

"It is all fine! But Lestrade is procreating with my brother-that's the part that's not fine!"

"Lestrade is a grown man! If he wants to have sex with your brother, that's his decision!"

"But he's not gay! He was married!"

"Maybe he's bisexual! And you know what Sherlock, if you have a problem with that, maybe I need to leave because I'm also bisexual!" Thus saying, John storms off. 

Sherlock flounces off in the opposite direction, looking miffed. Greg slides down his car, grabs his head, and moans. 

"Greg?" He recognizes the voice of Anderson, and groans again. "You know, we don't really care if you're gay, bisexual, straight, whatever. Whoever you've been with seems to make you happy, and that's honestly all that matters. Just do me a favor and don't give me details about the sex."

"I haven't slept with him! Not even in the same bed! I just stayed the night because I stayed up too late watching movies and fell asleep, and I didn't have a change of clothes so I sprayed his cologne on me so I wouldn't smell!" This was more or less true, and it was all he really wanted to explain at the moment. 

"Oh. Well, we appreciate the effort that you made in not stinking for us."

Greg chuckles. 

"Come on, Lestrade. How many times have you told me 'just let Sherlock's words roll off your back?' Time to take your own advice." He helps Lestrade up. Then he digs in his car, finding aspirin and handing them to his boss. "You look like you need this."

"Thanks, Anderson. For everything."

"Don't get used to it."  
.............................................................  
After work ends, Greg procrastinates leaving the office for another three hours. Finally, he's finished all of his paperwork, and completely reorganized his entire office, and there's nothing left to do. 

He should go 'home' to Mycroft, but that would mean facing the man, and Greg's not quite ready for that yet. Sherlock's words ring in his ears, taunting him. He can't go home and see Mycroft while mentally hearing Sherlock list the evidence that they were sleeping together. His phone chimed, and he glances down at it. 'Where are you? -MH' Greg ignores it. 

"What are you still doing here?" Sally demands as she leaves. "You were supposed to be gone three hours ago! And John said you're supposed to be taking it easy because of your concussion!"

Greg shrugs listlessly. "I'm just leaving," he reassured Sally. Once outside, he meanders around for a little while. He finally found himself outside a bar, which he decides to enter. 

Greg sits at the counter, buying himself a beer but sitting there staring at it rather than drinking. His phone chimes again. 'Text me if you need Anthea to fetch you from that bar -MH." Greg huffs angrily and slams his phone down. 

"Having some trouble, honey?" Greg turns to see a woman around his age staring at him. "Need a stranger to talk to? I'll help you out," she says, winking at Greg. He stares at her blankly. 

"Go away. He's not interested in your terrible flirting, obviously. He's also bisexual," Greg stiffens at the posh voice and childishly turns his stool so he's not facing the speaker. 

"Lestrade. I may have spoken out of turn earlier." Greg snorts his agreement. "I didn't mean to imply that you were prostituting yourself to move up the ranks at the New Scotland Yard. I was upset that Mycroft had broken our deal, our agreement to let certain people alone, to not drive them off. For Mycroft, I agreed not to drive off his coworkers, especially Anthea. In turn Mycroft agreed not to drive off you or John, after you two impressed him in your dealings with both me and him. I was afraid that if you started to date my brother, you would begin to see me as he does, and I would lose both my entertainment in solving cases and my friend." Greg swivels, staring at Sherlock in shock. "Also, you should be aware I am a bit drunk right now, otherwise I wouldn't be discussing feelings, the useless sentimental things."

Greg smiles. "I'm still mad at you. Don't you ever talk that way to me again. But you're forgiven."

His phone chimes again. 'Anthea is outside the bar -MH.' 

"How does he know where I am?" Greg asks Sherlock. 

"CCTV footage."

"I should probably go. Bye, Sherlock."


	7. Interlude, Sherlock Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John storms off, Sherlock goes to Mycroft prior to apologizing to Greg.

"Maybe he's bisexual! And you know what Sherlock, if you have a problem with that, maybe I need to leave because I'm also bisexual!" Thus saying, John storms off. 

Sherlock watches him go, then flounces off in the opposite direction. "Taxi!" He shouts, flagging one down. He settles into the back, resolved to halt this ridiculousness before it goes any further. And since Detective Inspector Lestrade is so ensnared in denial, Sherlock will address the other half of the guilty party. 

A few minutes later, Sherlock is striding into the Diogenes Club. He sweeps past the silent men in the foyer, going straight to Mycroft's (soundproof) office. 

"Brother mine," Mycroft greets. 

Sherlock snarls. "We had a deal!"

"I haven't broken it!"

"We agreed that if I didn't frighten your people and scare them off, you would extend the same courtesy to me and mine."

"So we did. So I have."

"You're dating my Detective Inspector!"

"Yours? What makes him yours? Are you in love with him?" 

"No, you know I'm not! But neither are you. Stop playing his heart like a violin and let him come back to me, solving cases, where he belongs."

"I need him. He's accommodating, helping me garner an alliance with Argentina."

"So you date him?"

"I needed a spouse. He was agreeable."

"You're taking advantage of him! Playing his heart! If you-" he stops abruptly. "Shut up!" He says, interrupting Mycroft before the man can even attempt to defend himself. "You? You're in love? The elder brother who taught me 'caring is not an advantage' is in love? When will you tell him?"

"Never! He can't know! He could be used against me, and I can't allow that to occur."

"Or he could return your feelings, and that might be even worse."

"When will you tell John about your feelings?"

"I don't have feelings, Mycroft. You of all people should know that. I don't even have a heart."

"Most times, no. But with John Watson, the man brings out your heart."

"I will tell John the truth when you tell Gregory the truth."

Mycroft chuckles. "Very well, brother mine. I will hold you to that."

"Where is Gregory now?"

Mycroft rattles off an address, and Sherlock goes there next. It's time to apologize. But first, he needs to go get a drink someplace else, because this discussion must involve feelings, and he doesn't like to discuss those sober.


	8. Aftershocks

Greg is silent the entire way back to Mycroft's house. He doesn't want to talk with Anthea, and he's still not certain he wants to speak to, or even see, Mycroft. 

When they get to Mycroft's mansion, Greg lets himself in through the garage door. Mycroft isn't around, and Greg breathes a quick sigh of relief. He enters the kitchen, flicks on the light, and nearly jumps out of his skin. "Mycroft," he's aiming for a casual greeting, but fairly certain he didn't succeed. 

"There's food in the oven, Gregory. I kept it warm for you."

"Thanks." Greg can't look Mycroft in the eyes, so he's staring at his ear instead. He scoops himself the lasagna and begins to eat. Mycroft says nothing, just sits there and watches him. The awkwardness permeates the room. 

Ever so timidly, Mycroft extends his hand so he's just barely making contact with Gregory. "Are you alright, Gregory?"

"Fine." Mycroft can see from Gregory's suddenly rigid posture that he knows Mycroft is touching him. 

Mycroft leans closer, so that his lips are nearly brushing Gregory's ear. "Gregory, I-" poor Gregory jumps like a startled gazelle, and exactly like a gazelle he takes off running. "Thanks for dinner, it was good. I should go get some rest. Goodnight, Mycroft," he calls over his shoulder, words tumbling over themselves as he attempts to get them all out while fleeing the room. 

Mycroft decides it is best to let Gregory go for now, so he simply steeples his fingers and begins to ponder how to regain all the ground with Gregory that Sherlock made him lose.   
.............................................................  
The next morning, Greg is feeling better. His head isn't pounding, and he doesn't feel hungover. The sun is shining, and it will be a great day. 

He goes down to find Mycroft making breakfast. "Morning," he chirps cheerfully. Mycroft raises one posh eyebrow at him. 

"Morning, Gregory," he replies. 

"Hey, where are my clothes?" 

Mycroft deliberates making a joke, then decided to. "On your body, Gregory."

Gregory laughs, startled but enjoying himself just the same. "My other ones. The ones your people brought over."

"In my bedroom. You will find them located throughout all the drawers, next to my own clothing. Your other items are in my closet, hanging on the right hand side."

"My clothes are in your bedroom??!" Gregory squeaks. 

"Yes. We will be pretending to be married in two days time, Gregory. Therefore, your clothes are in my room."

"Right. I'm going upstairs to shower," Gregory announces. 

"Thank you for sharing," Mycroft teases lightly. He smiles cheekily at Gregory, enjoying this odd feeling of domesticity. Gregory is back in record time, dressed in a smart outfit. He sneaks in quietly, arms moving around Mycroft's waist as his hands creep around to grab the pepper Mycroft is chopping to throw in their omelettes. He waits until Gregory has snagged a pepper, and then smacks his hands playfully. 

Gregory yelps, but pops his confiscated pepper into his mouth, eyes dancing. He sauntered over to the coffeemaker and pours a cup, still laughing. 

"You're in a good mood," Mycroft comments. Gregory shrugs. "Preparing for two days from now?"

Gregory groans, throwing his head back dramatically. "Don't remind me."

Mycroft carries his omelettes to the table, arranging them on plates before handing one to Gregory. "So. Why are you so happy and oddly affectionate today?"

"I'm not oddly affectionate." Mycroft levels him with a no-nonsense look, which makes him frown. "I'm not! I spoke with my son last night, and he told me I needed to 'step up my game.' Apparently he feels my flirting has been subpar, and I need to improve before your guests come. He also told me to stop being a wimp and act like I like you, so I did. Also, I'm sorry for yesterday. I was dealing with some stuff, and couldn't find it in me to pretend at that point."

"Are you uncomfortable with people presuming we're a couple, Gregory? Because if so, it might be best for you to return home. I can keep your things for the week, claim my spouse went on a mandatory work trip, and return them as soon as the Argentinian representative leaves."

"That's not a problem. I'm committed to this now. Yesterday was a fluke, it won't happen again."

"I'm giving you an out, Gregory."

"I'm politely refusing to take it," Gregory answers. "I said I'll do this, and I meant it, Mycroft. You're stuck with me now, for better or for worse."


	9. First Kiss(es)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I mention in this chapter about Mycroft's mind filing cabinet. I've always loved the idea of Mycroft teaching Sherlock how to organize his mind. Sherlock has a Mind Palace, Mycroft has a Mind Filing Cabinet.

Fortunately, the day continues to be better than yesterday. The cases are easier to solve (for Sally, not Greg, his head isn't that well recovered yet) and Sherlock doesn't need to be called in. 

Around the end of Greg's shift, he gets a text from John. 'If Sherlock goes missing, I know nothing about it.- JW'

'As a DI, I'm not sure I can ignore that. -GL'

'I need to go out tonight.-JW'

'Eight? -GL'

'Fine. See you then. -JW'

Greg heads to Mycroft's. Dusk is just beginning to fall as he makes his way into the house. Mycroft isn't home yet, so Greg decides to start dinner. 

Mycroft arrives just as Greg's chicken pot pie is being pulled out of the oven. He collapses at the table and actually eats, both signs of exhaustion in Greg's mind. "You alright?"

"Fine. It's been a long day. I've been fighting with people about policies all day." 

"Sounds fun." Curiously, cautiously, Greg's fingers inch onto Mycroft's neck. After a brief pause, during which time Mycroft elects not to acknowledge the location of Gregory's fingers, he begins massaging the tense muscles he finds. 

Mycroft releases a low moan. "You're wonderful, Gregory."

"I know," he teases. "You're really tense, Mycroft," he adds, working at a stubborn knot. 

"The advantages of having a minor position in the British government, Gregory." 

They fall silent again as Gregory works the muscles in Mycroft's back. His fingertips slip beneath Mycroft's shirt at one point, which Mycroft ignores, because he can't point it out and risk having Gregory stop. Nobody has ever massaged him before. 

Gregory stops abruptly, popping his knuckles and wringing his hands. "Sorry, my arms are getting tired."

"Thank you, Gregory. That was wonderful." Impulsively, he catches Gregory's hand and brings it to his lips, lying a gentle kiss on the knuckles. Gregory's eyes widen, which makes Mycroft feel worried, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone but Gregory. 

"Was that wrong? I've not kissed someone before."

Gregory's whole face breaks out in a smile. "That was fine. Not quite sure I'd call it a kiss, though." He reaches down, tugging on Mycroft's back until he sits up completely. Then he sits down in the chair next to him, sitting very close. His fingers travel so they're on Mycroft's neck, then gripping his hair. He leans in, giving Mycroft plenty of time to pull away. Mycroft doesn't. He leans forward, meeting Gregory in the middle. 

Their lips touch, and Mycroft is certain North Korea has launched a nuclear missile directly at his home, because that is the only logical explanation for the feeling when his and Gregory's lips touch for the first time. His eyes slip closed, and then fly open as Gregory's phone vibrates. 

"Ignore that," Gregory says lightly. He glances up at Mycroft through his lashes, biting his lip. "Was that okay?"

"It felt like North Korea dropped a missile on us."

Gregory looks confused. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good. It was pleasant. I-" Mycroft takes a moment to think of what he wants to say, the appropriate words to convey his feelings (He has feelings? He must file this is his Mind Filing Cabinet to deal with later, because he has spent his entire life believing he and his brother lacked feelings, so some reconciliation must be done. Furthermore, he needs to reevaluate his stance on caring, because after several years of keeping his heart close to his chest, the foolish thing has run off sans his permission and leapt into Gregory's arms.) Gregory's phone buzzes again, but they both ignore it. "I rather liked it, possibly even enjoyed it."

Gregory's entire face falls, and Mycroft curses himself. Rather than attempt to explain feelings, which he has yet to evaluate, he grabs Gregory's shoulders as the man turns to leave. He spins him around and kisses desperately, trying to mimic Gregory's technique. Gregory's phone buzzes again, so Mycroft reaches into his pocket to place the annoying thing on the table. He breaks the kiss, looking at Gregory. "I'm not gifted at iterating feelings, and even less talented at knowing what I'm feeling. I enjoy the kissing, it surpassed my expectations."

"Oh. We better do it again, then." He swoops in and kisses Mycroft again. This time, his tongue swipes across Mycroft's lips. Mycroft feels his stomach jump, though he's not sure of the appropriate reaction. Should he do the same to Gregory? Before he can make a decision, Gregory's ringtone cuts through the air. Whoever has been texting had decided to call instead. Gregory pulls away, smiling ruefully. "I better get that," he said. 

Mycroft releases him (when had his hands found their way to Gregory's waist? At the last moment he was conscious of, they were safely gripping Gregory's shoulders) and he answers the phone. After a brief conversation, Gregory ends the call. "That was John. I told him I'd meet him tonight so he didn't kill Sherlock."

Mycroft smiles lightly. "You'd better go, Gregory. Doctor Watson is a good shot, I'd hate to see many bullet holes my brother could obtain, otherwise."

Gregory smiles. "Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

This surprises Mycroft, though he tries not to show it. "Did you want one?" He asks, only a bit uncertain. 

Gregory's grin widens. "Come here, you ridiculous man." His finger loops its way into Mycroft's belt buckle, and tugs him closer. Gregory's lips come down on his, a brief peck before he pulls away again. "See you later tonight, Mycroft."  
.............................................................  
Fifteen minutes later, Greg is slipping onto the barstool next to John, a goofy expression on his face. 

John surveys him for a moment, then flags down the bartender to order Greg a drink. "Don't say anything until you've drank this," he orders, sliding the beer to Greg. 

Greg drains the cup and sets it gingerly back on the counter. "What did Sherlock do this time?"

"What didn't he do? After his rude comments at the crime scene, I left. I stayed overnight at Harry's, and came back the next day. And the second I walked through the door, he accosted me! Demanding to know where I was, deducing who I was with, insulting my family, and ranting about how I'm not bisexual because he would have known if I was. So I tell him I'm not going to fight, go to make myself some tea, and he has a head stored in the fridge, a liver on my cutting board, and a finger covered in acid in my teacup! I ask him why he thought it was okay to use my stuff, and he played innocent! All 'I didn't think you were coming back, John!' Can you imagine?"

"He probably didn't think you were coming back, John. Others have been scared away by a lot less."

"But I wouldn't leave him!"

"Why not?" The gentle smile on Greg's face must clue John in to his thoughts, because he immediately stonewalls. 

"So what happened with you and Mycroft?" John asks, changing the subject abruptly. 

"We kissed." 

John's mouth twists like he's eaten something sour. Lestrade completely misses it. "He's a good kisser too." John stares at him like he's lost his mind. 

"I'm not drunk enough for this conversation, Greg. As your friend, I'm happy for you. But I haven't drunk anything, so I can't talk about this."

Greg signals the bartender and orders John a drink. They sit there as John nurses the drink. 

"So you and Mycroft?" John finally questions. 

"It's complicated." He begins to tell the whole story, starting with Mycroft's alliance and ending with the recent kiss. John plays the captivated audience member well. He gasps in all the right places and eggs Greg on in his storytelling. 

"So what happens next week after the alliance is signed?"

"We go our separate ways, I guess. I mean, he said he enjoyed kissing me, but it was his first kiss, so I rather hope he liked it. I don't know if he likes me, or was just kissing me back because he felt he had no other option." 

John frowns. "Easy way to rectify the problem: once the guy leaves, kiss him goodbye."

"You want me to kiss a married man in front of his wife?"

"What? No! Greg, you're an idiot!"

"Sherlock is definitely rubbing off on you, John."

John huffs, exasperated. "Yes, only I actually know your name. I meant, kiss Mycroft when the man leaves. If he responds badly, you can just say it was a goodbye kiss. If he responds well, no explanation needed."

"That's smart, John."

"Now you're sounding a little like Sherlock. I swear, the man has no idea I have a functioning brain inside my skull." 

Greg snickers. "To being smarter than we look," he toasts, clinking his empty glass with John's. "Now we ought to leave before you can't stand, lightweight."

John glares at him, but begrudgingly allows his friend to steer him outside into the night.


	10. T Minus One Day

'T minus 1 day' Mycroft thinks to himself as he wakes the next morning. He struts down the stairs, resolving to run three miles on the treadmill before breakfast. Before he can reach his exercise room, he notices Gregory is sprawled on the couch. His "fiancé/husband" is lying with his head wedged near the arm of the chair, and consequently his legs are thrown out past the other arm of the couch. Gregory's right arm is dangling off the couch, nearly brushing the floor, and he's snoring like a chainsaw. Mycroft stifles the feelings that this sight brings- feelings of sentiment- and trudges back upstairs for a camera. A few moments later, he is sneaking back downstairs, and clicks a picture. 

With a snort, Gregory awakes. "Mycroft? What are you doing?" His sleep-slurred voice sounds beautiful to Mycroft. 

"Nothing, Gregory. You can go back to sleep if you wish, it's merely five am. I plan to exercise."

"Mmmmmkay," Gregory mumbles I'm agreement, rolling onto his stomach and falling asleep instantly. This time he's not snoring. 

Forty-five minutes later, Mycroft leaps from his treadmill and begins stretching to cool down. He paces his exercise room, from the suit of armor to the doorway. He's breathing hard, and finally places his hands on his head to help him breathe. 

"Mycroft? I'm headed to work. I made breakfast for you, it's in on the stove. Try to eat at least half, okay?" Gregory comes into the room, watching Mycroft. 

Mycroft nods in agreement. Gregory walks closer, causing Mycroft to leap away as Gregory's hand moves to crawl around his waist and his hand flies to his mouth, blocking Gregory. "No goodbye kiss? I mean, that's fine, just, you know, tell me so I don't overstep my bounds."

"Gregory. I have sweat on my upper lip," he says, hand still blocking his mouth.

"That's fine. I'm sure your sweat tastes as good as the rest of you." Gregory looks horrified as soon as the words fly from his mouth. Mycroft raises a posh eyebrow, causing Gregory to blush furiously. "That wasn't what I meant. Can we forget that just happened?"

"No arguments on this front. Have a lovely day, Gregory."

Gregory leaves, and Mycroft surveys his home. With one day to go, it is time to decorate. The house must look like a married couple dwells there, and currently it does not appear that way. 

Mycroft finds Gregory's possessions, taking some of his blankets and arranging them over the furniture. Their marriage certificate is framed and hung on the wall of his bedroom. Pictures of Gregory are hung next, including him at a crime scene with Donovan and Anderson (courtesy of CCTV), him and Mycroft on their first date (courtesy of Anthea), and even the picture of Gregory sleeping from that morning. Next, Mycroft finds some of Gregory's sports memorabilia, hanging it in the exercise room. 

At long last, every room in Mycroft's house bears a testament to Gregory's existence. Satisfied, Mycroft phones Anthea. She breezes into his house a few minutes later, adding more pictures of Gregory, including a photoshopped one of him and Mycroft on their wedding day. Pictures of Mycroft go on the walls too, much to his voiced displeasure. 

Once Anthea and Mycroft are both satisfied, it is nearly time for Gregory to return home. Anthea leaves, and Mycroft begins cooking a fancy dinner for himself and Gregory. 

Gregory walks in to the smell of steak permeating the house. "Hello, Gregory," Mycroft greets him. Timidly he walks over and kisses Gregory gently. "Wash up, it's time to eat."

A few minutes later Gregory is back and seated at the table. "This looks amazing," he comments as he studies the steak, baked potato, and broccoli on his plate. Mycroft pops the cork on a bottle of wine and pours it for them both. "Are we celebrating something?"

Mycroft nods, frowning a bit. "A ridiculous piece of sentiment," he responds. "According to the marriage certificate on display in my bedroom, we've been married five years today. So when asked tomorrow what we did to celebrate, we can tell them about this dinner."

Gregory smirks a bit. "We're celebrating an occasion that hasn't happened? My, my, Mr. Holmes, you are getting sentimental in your old age."

Mycroft frowns at him. "Be silent and eat your steak, Gregory." Surprisingly Gregory complies. He is silent for most of the meal. "I made apple pie," Mycroft tells him as he finishes his plate. 

"Did you put raisins in it?"

"Yes. Your files told me that was your favorite dessert."

"Your files were right. Though you could've asked me, rather than spying on me."

"I don't spy," Mycroft answers, offended. "I look out for you for your own protection."

"Sorry, I didn't realize that would hit a nerve." Neither did I, Mycroft thinks. "I appreciate that you care enough about getting this right that you'd research my favorite dessert, even though we're not dating."

Gregory is obviously awaiting a response, so Mycroft says "I'll wash the dishes." He doesn't know what to say. Caring is not an advantage, but his brain cannot seem to recall that simple fact, nor the reasoning behind it. 

As soon as he turns away, Gregory is up with a hand sneaking around his waist. "Hey. I am sorry."

"I'm not angry, Gregory."

"Will you come cuddle with me on the couch?"

"I'm washing the dishes, Gregory."

"They'll keep until tomorrow." A bit reluctant, Mycroft places his hand in Gregory's, allowing the man to tug him from the kitchen. 

They wind up on the same couch Gregory slept on. Gregory kicks off his shoes, nestles his feet into the couch cushion so they are buried under it, and leans on Mycroft. Mycroft perches stiffly on the edge of the couch cushion. However, Gregory either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because he simply pushes Mycroft until the man is arranged precisely how he wants, then he cuddles close. 

"Ready for tomorrow?"

"I think so," Mycroft answers truthfully. "Anthea and I prepared the house today. We made it appear you live here."

"That's nice. That wasn't what I meant, though. How are you doing? Are you ready to pretend to be married to me for the next week? Do you think we can pull it off? Are you comfortable with physical contact, and the feelings you have to pretend you have now?"

"I think we can do this. I believe I'm improving in pretending to express feelings, and to initiate contact. Are you ready?"

"Of course. I'm just nervous. It's been six months since I was married, and longer since I've had physical contact with someone on a flirty level. I'm scared I'm going to mess this up somehow."

"You won't, Gregory. I will be there with you, and we will succeed together. We are both equally involved, and we will both keep each other strong. If I understand correctly, that's the proper way for a marriage to work. We've already got that part right, it's just a matter now of making it work."

Gregory turns his head and kisses him fiercely. His lips are hard and unrelenting, but Mycroft doesn't care. He yanks Gregory closer until the man is draped across his lap, continuing to kiss him. Gregory's tongue swipes across Mycroft's lips again, and Mycroft pulls away. 

"Why do you do that?" He asks, a bit curious. "Why lick my lips?"

Gregory laughs. "You taste good, Mycroft. I thought we discussed that this morning. But I'm actually trying to get you to make out with me like we're teenagers."

"We're not teenagers, Gregory."

"Yes, I know. Don't worry, I won't do it again."

"Teach me, Gregory. I want to learn."

"It's not something you can really teach, Mycroft. But I'll show you as best I can. Follow my lead, okay? I'll warn you right now, you probably won't like it. If not, don't be afraid to tell me."

"Why wouldn't I like it?"

"You'd have to give up control. Admit you don't know what you're doing, and let me take over."

"Do it, Gregory. I-" he paused and takes a deep breath before barreling on. "I trust you, Gregory." He hopes Gregory realizes how difficult it is to be vulnerable. 

"Mycroft, you beautiful, gorgeous man. Thank you. I'm so glad you trust me, and I hope I can continue to be worthy of that trust." He knows instinctively that Mycroft trusts few people, and as such is honored to be one of the few Mycroft trusts. 

"Kiss me, Gregory," Mycroft whispers. And Greg does. His mouth moves frantically over Mycroft's, demanding. Then, deliberately, he slows. Yes, Mycroft does want to make out with him, but Greg isn't ready for that at the moment. Rather, he kisses softly, thanking Mycroft for his trust. 

Mycroft yanks away, gasping. "Sorry, Gregory. I need to breathe."

"Shame on you for that. Mycroft Holmes needs something as pedestrian as air? Quick, alert the paparazzi!"

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Kiss me Gregory. Not sweetly like you are, either. It makes me feel uncomfortable."

"No, it makes you feel vulnerable. That's why you don't like it. Making out will be worse."

Mycroft considers this point for a while. "Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight, Gregory," he suggests tentatively. 

"Okay." His quick answer surprises Mycroft. 

"You're not upset?"

"No, of course not. We will take this at your pace, Mycroft. Many married couples don't make out in public, it won't be odd for us not to."

"I'm tired," Mycroft mutters. "Coming, Gregory?"

"To your bedroom?"

"Married couples sleep together, Gregory. Come along." 

Once actually in his bedroom, Mycroft realizes how awkward this is. He and Gregory are not in pajamas, and he is too fat to change in front of Gregory. His breathing picks up a bit, the only external sign of his discomfort. After a minute, even that is under control. 

"I'll change in the bathroom if you want to change in here? Just knock on the door when you're finished so I know when to come out." He sauntered over to the dresser, pulls out his pajamas, and strides into the bathroom, the picture of confidence. Mycroft is instantly jealous, until he notes Gregory's hands are shaking a bit, a sign of his nerves. 

Mycroft listens for the click of the door before quickly and efficiently stripping off his clothes and changing into his silk pajamas. He crawls beneath the covers, then calls for Gregory. Said man comes out and crawls beneath the covers, too. 

"Goodnight, Mycroft," he says softly, kissing his hair before drifting off. For Mycroft it takes much longer. He's never had anyone in his bed before, and the simple knowledge that Gregory is there makes it hard to sleep. Some point in the middle of the night, Gregory rolls over and wraps his arms around Mycroft, and that is how Mycroft finally falls asleep.


	11. Self-evaluation and contemplation

When Gregory wakes up, it takes him a minute to realize where he is. Partly because he doesn't recognize the room, but mostly because there is someone lying right next to him-and that's being polite. The British Government is plastered to the Detective Inspector's side, with one arm and a leg thrown haphazardly over Greg's body. Cautious to avoid waking Mycroft, Greg sets about the precarious task of untangling himself so he can go to the bathroom. 

As soon as he moves, Mycroft's limbs tighten around him, and he makes a muffled sound of annoyance. Greg huffs. "Mycroft! Let me up!" Mycroft doesn't answer, but Greg can feel him burrowing into his hair. "Mycroft! I have to pee and I probably have morning breath! Let me go!"

Greg can tell the exact moment Mycroft wakes up. He leaps away as though he's been scalded. "Gregory! My sincerest apologies," Greg's fairly certain he's still talking, but he bolts into the bathroom to relieve himself, not listening at all. 

By the time he steps out a minute later, Mycroft has already grabbed his clothes for the day and fled the scene of the crime. Greg decides to let him hide for now, and grabs his clothes to shower. 

Though he speeds through the shower, Mycroft is gone by the time he goes downstairs. Greg sighs in frustration. He makes himself a cup of coffee and heads to work. 

It is a chaotic day at work, and Greg relished in it. Sitting still leads to thinking, which leads to panicked thoughts about Felipe Santiago and his wife coming. Like it or not, Mycroft and himself are married for the next seven days. 

In what feels to Lestrade like five minutes since he clocked in but is really eight hours, he's headed back to Mycroft's house. He wonders if Mycroft is home, or at work. Will he be picking up their guests? Greg can't imagine he forgot to ask. 

As he walks through the door, he calls "Mycroft?" There is no answer. Greg's panicking a bit now. This is the first time he's had all day to stop and think, and he's finding he doesn't appreciate it. He wants to clean, but Mycroft's house is as impeccable as its owner. He wonders if Mycroft is upset with himself for how they woke up that morning, with him cuddled close. He wonders how they will possibly pull off bring married for a week. 

The click of a door opening is loud in the silence, and Greg turns to the foyer. Mycroft steps in, and hangs his omnipresent umbrella on the rack. "Gregory," he greets, face impassive. Greg wraps his arms around him, though he feels Mycroft stiffen subtly. 

"Are you angry with me?" Greg asks. 

"No, Gregory," he said. 

"Are you embarrassed? If so, you should be aware that I didn't mind it. I like having you close to me." It was Mycroft's chance to be vulnerable last night, it is Greg's turn now. 

"It surprised me to wake with my body sprawled overtop yours. That's all."

Greg frowns. "Could you stop this? Playing like you don't care? Please?"

"That's the only way I know, Gregory. I've presented myself that way for so long that I forget what it is to have emotions, to feel things."

"I don't believe you. You and your brother both try to act like you have no feelings, but I don't buy that for a second. You both care, but you're afraid someone will hurt you so you claim you don't have feelings at all. That way it's easier to pretend you don't care when people hurt you."

Mycroft studies him quietly. "I don't know how I feel, Gregory, much less precisely what I feel. You told me last night I wouldn't enjoy making out because it made me vulnerable. Yet waking up this morning in the manner we did, I find it difficult to imagine anything else more vulnerable. I don't like it for that reason. I'm not embarrassed, I'm scared, Gregory. You know what you're doing, you're experienced with all of these things. I'm not. For the first time since I was a child, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm feeling in over my head, Gregory. I don't like not knowing, yet at the same time I find I prefer to experience any feelings of vulnerability with you, because you're very understanding. It's one of the reasons I picked you for this charade. Please, Gregory, maintain your patience and understanding with me."

Gregory moves closer, wrapping his arms around Mycroft's shoulders, holding him close. "Do you honestly not see me, Mycroft? Can't you deduce my fears? I'm so scared, Mycroft. It feels like I'm standing on a cliff about to jump into the unknown. I thought we were in this together, and then I thought you left me to do this on my own. I need you here."

Mycroft feels the growing urge to pull away, but he tamps it down. Gregory needs him, needs to feel the reassurance that he's not physically distant like he is emotionally. After a moment, his hands travel to Gregory's silver hair, carding through the short strands. "I'm here, Gregory," he reassured the man. 

The doorbell rings, breaking the moment. Mycroft pulls away. "Are you alright, Gregory?"

"Get the door, honey. It's showtime."

Mycroft opens the door, ushering the Argentinian Government and his wife into his home. Felipe Santiago is a tall Hispanic man, with short pure black hair, though he appears older than Greg. He is wearing a bright red shirt, and black dress pants with a black tie. "Hello," he greets, offering his hand to Mycroft. "I am Felipe Santiago, and this is my wife Estella." 

Estella is petite, an interesting balance to her husband. She is wearing a rainbow top with khaki pants. Her ebony hair is pulled back in a strict, no-nonsense bun, but her smile is friendly and open. 

"Greetings and welcome to England. My name is Mycroft Holmes, and this is my husband, Gregory Lestrade." The words fall from his mouth so smoothly that Greg would believe him under interrogation. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "We have set up a room for you upstairs, if you would like someplace to put your things."

"That would be lovely," Estella answers. 

"May I take your bag, ma'am?" Greg asks. She hands it to him and the small group sets off up the stairs. Greg places their things in a room on the third floor, then turns to leave. 

"Excuse me a moment," Mycroft says, and he slips into the hallway with Greg. "Are we alright, Gregory?" 

"Yes. I'm just stupidly emotional right now. Ignore me. Plus, I have some paperwork to file." It's a lie and they both know it, but Mycroft elects to let it go.

Nevertheless, Greg troops up the stairs to his office. He really needs to think. Slouching in the chair and kicking off his shoes, he places his feet on the desk. It is time for self-evaluation and contemplation, which has always worked better when he's comfortable. 

Leaning back, he lets his mind drift off. Why was he so upset Mycroft left him that morning? The answer is simple: he felt rejected. Does Mycroft's opinion matter that much? Well, yes. Why did he feel rejected? His ex-wife liked to leave him if she ever woke up close to him, and Mycroft leaving triggered painful memories. Why would he care if Mycroft left? I never said I did, he argued mentally. No, but actions speak louder than words, genius. You said it with your actions, enough that he's worried. So then, we come back to the same question-why does it matter if he leaves? Because I like him. 

Greg's feet fall off the table, and he launches himself up so he can pace the room. That's it, isn't it? He likes Mycroft. That simple, yet that complicated. He likes Mycroft. If the man had asked him out, he'd have gone. He likes Mycroft, and apparently he has liked him for some time. 

Well, that's a problem. Mycroft doesn't like him, not in that manner. Mycroft doesn't like feelings, and how many times has he heard the mantra "Caring is not an advantage?" So he is stuck pretending to be married to Mycroft for the Santiagos, and pretending he doesn't actually like Mycroft for his own personal relationship with the man. What a conundrum! 

Needing advice, Greg calls John. 

"Hello?"

"John it's Greg. I have a huge problem-I like Mycroft."

There is a moment of silence from the line, then a deep, obviously-not-John's voice answered "I wondered how long it would take for you to realize that."

"Sherlock?" Greg questions, mortified. 

"Yes, I thought we already established that."

"Why are you on John's phone?"

"He's in the loo. I took the liberty of answering the phone, hoping you were calling with a case."

"Oh. Well, can you delete this conversation from your Mind Palace and I'll call again in a few minutes?"

"No. You said liking my brother was a huge problem. Why? It's not because he's a man, and you are clearly attracted to him. It's not due to his job, your job, nor any misplaced loyalty you feel to your family now that you're divorced. So then, it's because of him. Most likely because of his lack of emotion. Yet that wasn't a problem for you a few days ago. So, something happened in between then and now. You were vulnerable, and he ignored it."

As always, Greg is shocked by Sherlock's deductions. "We ended up cuddling up next to each other while asleep last night. This morning, I woke him so I could go to the bathroom and he ran away."

The phone goes silent, then Greg heard John. "Is that my phone?"

"Yes, it's the Detective Inspector he needs relationship advice."

"Give me that! Hey Greg, it's John. What's up?"

"I have a problem. I like Mycroft."

"Okay, I'm headed outside. Tell me what happened." For the second time in a few minutes, Greg is relating the story. "Look, here's the thing. Mycroft and Sherlock both have trouble expressing feelings. Neither of them like to be vulnerable. And I can understand Mycroft's perspective about feeling you're more experienced. It's true, you are. You're settling into this farce of a marriage with preconceived ideas of what you want. Mycroft doesn't have the same luxury. From what you just told me, Mycroft was vulnerable with you yesterday. Today it's your turn. Before you go to bed, you need to explain how you're feeling, just like you did to me."

"I tried! It didn't help."

"Try again. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable, let your guard down. Talk to him like he's me, and you'll be fine."

"Wait! Before you hang up, how do I hide from Mycroft what I'm feeling? I don't want him to deduce it."

"Just go on like normal. The Holmes brothers are not good with feelings, he won't figure it out. Trust me on that one."

"John, do you like Sherlock?"

"Bye, Greg," is John's answer. Greg hangs up the phone and goes downstairs to see Mycroft and their guests. He will follow John's advice tonight, and see where that gets him.


	12. Day One Complete

Halfway down the stairs, Greg runs into Mycroft. "Gregory, I was just coming to get you. We're planning to eat. Were you coming down, or would you like a plate kept for you?"

"I was just coming down. I'll join you. Before I forget, I want to talk tonight before we go to bed."

There is a flash of something for a brief moment on Mycroft's face, then it's gone, fast enough for Greg to be unable to analyze. "Whatever you desire, Gregory." Before Mycroft can turn around and dismiss him, Greg has him against the wall and kisses him lightly. Then he pulls away, leaving Mycroft against the wall with an expression similar to shock on his face. A half moment later it is gone, and the British Government is as inscrutable as ever. 

Conversation flows easily around dinner. Estella and Felipe are friendly, asking Mycroft and Greg about life in England. Afterwards, they retreat to the parlor again. Mycroft and Felipe instantly start a conversation in hushed tones, so Greg is left to talk to Estella. 

"Gregory, what do you do for a living?" Estella asks. 

"Greg, please. I'm a Detective Inspector with New Scotland Yard, in the homicide division."

"How did you meet your husband?"

Greg laughs. "Now that's a story. It was several years ago at this point. I was in the middle of an investigation when this curly-haired young adult comes onto the scene. He starts rattling off crazy things, spouting that he knew who the murderer was, and generally insulting my team. Turns out, the things the boy was saying was right. We got our criminal, but I chased the kid off because he was high. Next day, here's this same kid, high as a kite again. Found the criminal again, same as before. And I ran him off again. After a week of this, I'm walking along, headed back home when a woman climbs out of a car and tells me to get in the car. I ran, and next thing I know I'm waking up with Mycroft here looking down at me. Turns out, his secretary knocked me unconscious and carted me off to Mycroft. He starts talking about how I keep running off his brother, and I'm sitting there staring at him like an idiot. Finally I realize we're talking about the annoying kid. He asked me to help his brother, motivate him to keep him off the drugs. So I did. Every time the kid showed up high, I chased him off. About two days in, he started showing up sober so I'd let him help. And now, eight years later, here we are."

Estella chuckles. "He kidnapped you?"

"In broad daylight," Greg confirms. 

"Did you love him in that moment?"

"Definitely not, though there was a small off-topic part of my brain that thought he looked nice in the suit. Only after working with him for about two years did I grow to tolerate his presence and not get angry the second I saw him."

"How did he get you to go on a date with him?"

"The pretentious man showed up at my work, insulted my ex-wife, and suggested we go to dinner in one swoop. Surprisingly I agreed."

"How did he propose?"

"Took me to a restaurant. Popped the question over dinner. It was funny-we never talked about our feelings, and he's pulling out a ring. I'm quite ashamed to say I didn't even answer him, I grabbed the wine bottle and started reading the alcohol content to find out how drunk I was." It's the truth, if only a bit embellished to make it seem as though they'd been dating at the time. 

Estella laughs. "My, you have such a funny story! I wish Felipe and I had the excitement of yours and Mycroft's relationship."

"Well, if you want to be kidnapped just contact my husband. He'll be happy to help," Greg quips. He and Estella both dissolve in peals of laughter. 

"What are you laughing about?" Felipe questions, coming over and placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. 

"Greg was telling me of his relationship with Mycroft. It's quite entertaining."

Greg goes to repeat the story, but before he can he lets out a big yawn. "Sorry, just got really tired all the sudden."

"We have been bad guests. Come, Estella. Let's leave our hosts sleep."

Estella and Felipe move upstairs, and after a moment Greg pried himself off the couch to follow. Once inside "their" bedroom, Greg turns to Mycroft. "I think I like them. Any signs of the alliance being signed?"

"It appears everything will go as expected in that regard."

"Are they suspicious of us at all?"

"No. We've played our roles well. Day one is complete. Congratulations, Gregory."

Mycroft grabs his pajamas and goes to the bathroom. After a few minutes he is back, dressed and crawling under the covers. 

"Before you go to sleep, remember I wanted to talk." Mycroft grimaces, but sits up obediently. Greg hustles through his evening routine, then goes back to Mycroft. 

"So, about this morning, I didn't mean to scare you away. I'm sorry. I'm sure it can be intimidating to wake up next to someone like that, when you never have before. That being said, you can do it again if you wish."

Silence. Mycroft is studying him, deducing. "I've hurt you."

"A bit, yes. My ex-wife always used to jump away like you did."

"I hate that woman for making you feel insecure and inferior. I'm sorry I made you feel that way too, Gregory."

"Like I said earlier, I'm not mad."

"Good. Goodnight, Gregory." Shockingly, Mycroft slides next to Gregory and wraps one arm around him. After a moment of awkwardness, Greg drifts off to sleep.


	13. Day 2

Greg wakes up the next morning and instantly realizes two things: he is alone, and Mycroft's side of the bed is cold. After a cursory glance around, he realizes Mycroft must already be downstairs, probably exercising to lose the weight he doesn't actually need to lose. 

Greg climbs out of bed, stretching out his shoulders. After popping them, he goes downstairs to cook breakfast. He hasn't had crepes for a while, so he decides to make those. After all, he's French, so he can make crepes the proper way. 

Digging through Mycroft's overly-large pantry, he finds the ingredients he needs, plus chocolate sauce. In the refrigerator there is a pint of strawberries, which he takes, too. If Mycroft planned to use them for anything in particular he can always buy more today. 

Greg has just poured the mix into a pan when Estella walks in. "Good morning, Greg. What are you making?" 

"Crepes," Greg answers. "Morning, Felipe," he calls to Estella's husband, who has just entered. "They'll be ready in about ten minutes," Greg tells Estella. 

"Good morning, Gregory," Mycroft says as he enters the kitchen. His hair is a bit damp, and does things to Greg's stomach, so he studiously admires his crepes instead. "Crepes, Gregory? Must you always make food to tempt me off my diet?"

Greg bristles, then takes a moment to think about the tone. It wasn't rude, so thus not insulting. "If you had weight to lose, I'd feel guilty about it, but there's no reason for you to diet, so I don't feel bad."

Mycroft's answer is cut off by Greg's ringing phone. "Hello?...No. I'm not at work yet...its seven am, Sherlock...no...well I'm sorry to hear that, but I can't help. I'll call you if there's anything interesting...Are you shooting your wall? Can't imagine John's happy about that...well what do you want me to do, Sherlock? Kill someone so you have a case? That was sarcasm, by the way, so don't even answer that...Yes, hello John. No, I'm not at work yet...sounds like you've got your hands full...John? John? What was that? Are you okay? John?" The line goes dead, and Greg lets out a frustrated yell. "Sounded like an explosion," Greg tells Mycroft. 

He runs upstairs for shoes, and nearly falls down the stairs pulling them on. Fortunately, Mycroft catches him, then hands him a crepe and cup of coffee. "Go rescue my brother, Gregory. Call me as soon as you know anything."

Greg runs out the door and drives like a maniac until he careens to a stop outside 221B Baker Street. He flies up the stairs, completely brushing past Mrs. Hudson, who is trying to speak with him, and throwing open the door to 221B. 

John is lying on the ground unconscious, while Sherlock has him turned in the recovery position and is speaking quietly to him. "An explosion, Lestrade," he says when he sees the Detective Inspector. "Similar to the 'gas leak' of Moriarty's."

"Do you think it was him?"

"Hard to know. John's hurt. He was blown off his feet and cracked his head on the coffee table. He's not bleeding externally or internally, so I think he'll be okay."

"Right, that's good. I'll call Mycroft." No response from Sherlock. Greg dials Mycroft. 

"Gregory, what have you discovered?"

"Your brother is fine. John is unconscious due to a fall but expected to be fine. Explosion went off, possibly an actual gas leak, possibly a bomb like the one Moriarty did back in the day. Either way, it's a strange coincidence."

"Coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy. Tell my brother I expect him to investigate immediately."

Before Greg can relay the message, Sherlock states, "Tell my brother I refuse to do anything until John is better." Frustrated, Greg relays the message. 

"Well tell him-"

"No. You want to talk to him, you call him yourself. I'm your husband, not your secretary-that's what you have Anthea for. Now I'm hanging up and going to work. Have a nice day, and I'll see you tonight."

Sherlock glanced up curiously at the 'I'm your husband' comment, which makes Lestrade hate his big mouth. He doesn't say anything, simply stares at Greg, making the man uncomfortable. Can Sherlock read the truth on his face, how he likes Mycroft? He hopes not, but knowing Sherlock, he's already deduced it, and hopefully deleted it as unimportant. "Right. If you don't need me, I'm going to work."

"Don't call me, I'm not available for consultations today." John groans, sitting up, and Sherlock's attention is instantly diverted. Seeing as how he's not needed, he lets himself out. Mrs. Hudson has gone back to her own flat, so Lestrade leaves and goes to work. 

As soon as Lestrade walks through the door, he is bombarded with cases. He and Sally work straight through, and then they stay late to file paperwork. Around 8 pm, Lestrade comes to realize it's been eleven hours since he ate one measly crepe, which is not nearly enough to sustain him. His head is pounding, likely a result of low blood sugars. 

A knock at the door, and Greg and Sally look up. Anderson is standing in the doorway. 'What's he doing here?' Greg thinks. 'Lucky sod had off today.'

"Sally, I brought you food." Anderson says, holding up a McDonald's bag. 

"I love you!" Sally exclaimed. 

"There's an extra burger in there if you want one, Lestrade."

"I love you too," he answers, taking the burger Sally passes him, unwrapping it, and inhaling the burger. 

"Don't be putting moves on my man. You have one of your own," Sally teases. Greg can't be bothered to take the minute to stop eating to answer her, but he does look up and roll his eyes. 

"Yes, speaking of which, how is your man?" Sally asks as Lestrade finishes his burger. 

"Fine."

"Details!" Sally demands. 

"Nope. I'm going home to my man. See you tomorrow morning!" He hustles out of his own office so he doesn't have to talk about his relationship. Sally chuckles, takes Anderson's arm, and leads him from Greg's office, locking the door behind them. 

"Let's go to my place," Sally suggests. "We can-how did The Freak put it? Mop the floors?"

Anderson groans. "Please don't talk about Sherlock and sex in the same sentence. It's a mood killer."

As they leave, they wave goodbye to Lestrade, who is crawling into a long, black car. He waves back. "His man must be loaded," Sally observes. 

In the car, Greg settles in and gets comfortable, ignoring Anthea's quiet texting. His eyes drift shut and that's the last thing he remembers. 

As the car pulls into his driveway, Mycroft comes out to meet them. "He's sleeping," Anthea reports. 

Mycroft pulls open his car door, smiling to see Gregory sleeping with his mouth hanging open. Silently, he reaches over Gregory to unbuckle him. Greg snorts, but otherwise doesn't awaken. 

Mycroft tugs Gregory into his arms, beginning to carry him to the house. "Mycroft?" he hears Gregory mumble. 

"Shhh it's alright, Gregory. I've got you, go back to sleep." A slight frown line settles across Gregory's brow, but evens out a moment later as he falls asleep again. Mycroft stifles his smile and carries Gregory to their bedroom, lying him gently on the bed. 

Gregory groans, searching around the bed as Mycroft climbs in next to him. As soon as Gregory makes contact, he snuggles into Mycroft and goes to sleep again. Mycroft grins, in the privacy of his own room where no one can witness it. Then he too falls asleep.


	14. The Problem with Alliances and Obvious Conclusions

Greg wakes up to find Mycroft lying next to him for the first time since they started sharing a bed. Mycroft's eyes are open and he's sitting there watching him. Nothing about his gaze is calculating, so Greg doesn't feel uncomfortable. "Morning, Mycroft."

"Good morning, Gregory. I was thinking we could take Felipe and Estella on a tour of England tomorrow."

"That'd be nice. I'll let Sally know I'm taking off." Greg curls into Mycroft's side. "I'm just going to stay here a while longer."

"Are you letting me up?"

"Nope. We're cuddling. You're a very comfortable pillow." 

A sharp rap sounds at the door. "We apologize to wake you, but may Estella and I cook breakfast for you?"

"That'd be wonderful," Greg answers. "See? Even they think it's a good idea for us to cuddle for a bit," he said to Mycroft. Mycroft throws an arm over Gregory in acquisition, smothering his grin in Gregory's silver hair. 

A few minutes later, Gregory pushes away from Mycroft. He grabs clothes from the dresser and goes into the bathroom, Mycroft surreptitiously watching him the entire way. Once Gregory is safely ensconced in the bathroom, he grabs his own outfit and sneaks into the adjourning room so he can shower. It wouldn't do to have their houseguests question why they were in separate bathrooms to shower, considering they were supposed to be married. 

Mycroft is feeling rather pleased with himself when he yanks open the door and comes face to face with Felipe. "Mr. Holmes, breakfast is ready." Mycroft follows the man downstairs, praying he won't question why Mycroft was in that guest room instead of his own. Thankfully, nothing is said. 

After a breakfast of tomato tortillas, Gregory leaves for the New Scotland Yard in Mycroft's car, and Mycroft takes Estella and Felipe back to Buckingham Palace, once his car returns. The three of them settle in for a long talk. 

Hearing others talk about this alliance, Mycroft is often faced with utter despair. Is he (and Sherlock) the only intelligent person left on the Earth? New on their utterly ridiculous ideas: they will monitor all of Argentina's nuclear productivity, keeping it under control, unless Argentina is in a war or England is in one. They will also expect the country to destroy any nuclear missilery they have that England decides they don't need. 

Mycroft is annoyed, so while still appearing to be listening, he opens his emails and starts one to Gregory. 'Good morning Gregory. I can only hope your day is going better than mine. I am surrounded by goldfish. Have you gotten any new cases yet? On a completely unrelated topic, thank you for doing this with me-helping the alliance, pretending to be married to me. In the course of a week, I've come to appreciate you more than ever before. You've opened me to feelings, something I did not believe I was capable of. You've made me better. Thank you.' Reading over the email, he deletes the whole thing. Honestly, rambling like that? Terribly embarrassing. 

"Mycroft, what do you think?"

Tactfully, he says, "I don't see how that would work," to cover the fact that he hadn't been listening for at least the last ten minutes. 

"You don't see how that works?" his coworker questions derisively. "We monitor them for a potential threat. If one arises, then and only then do they access their missiles. How else would we keep safe?"

Even though this was not an opening for him, Mycroft treats it as though it was. The first rule of politics is that if you wish to maintain speaking, you do not ask an open-ended question. Otherwise, someone will invariably interrupt, as Mycroft is doing now, and take control of the situation. Simple politics. 

"Thank you for bringing your concerns to light," Mycroft responds, standing. "I shall endeavor to assuage them." Stuttering weakly, Mycroft's coworker sinks back into his seat. "How else would we keep safe? By quite simply forming the alliance. We have nothing to fear from a nation that is our ally, as it appears some of us have forgotten. I move that we offer no control over their nuclear program. Any control taken is an opportunity for discontent, which sows the seeds for war. As such, it would be foolish to enforce such stringent guidelines, unless we fancy a war, and I for one do not fancy a war." 

Mycroft seats himself again. Felipe clasps his shoulder and mutters a soft "Thank you."

"Mr. Holmes is correct. We have offered this program to the Argentinians for both benefits. Stringent nuclear guidelines will not help our allies, nor us in the long run. Now, did anyone have any other proposals on what should be included in this alliance?" the Queen asks. Silence reins. "Very well. My secretary will draw up the alliance tomorrow or the day after for your perusal, Mr. Santiago. You are all dismissed."

As they stand to leave, people gather around chatting pleasantly. The Queen moves to intercept Mycroft, and with a polite smile he tolerates it. "Thank you. Walk with me a moment, Mr. Holmes."

He offers his arm respectfully, ever a gentleman from a bygone era. They walk in silence away from everyone else, then the Queen says, "You seem a bit distracted today, Mr. Holmes. How is Mr. Holmes the younger?"

"He is well, thank you for the inquiry."

"Your parents?"

"Also well, my Queen."

"Then to what do we owe the distraction?"

Mycroft searches frantically in his Mind Filing Cabinet for an acceptable excuse. There is none he can offer. "Unacceptable. I apologize."

"Ah!" The Queen looks excited. "So you've found someone at long last."

"No!" Mycroft protests, but his face is flaming and he knows it tells the truth for him. 

"Tell me about her, the woman who can turn Mr. 'Caring is not an advantage' into a blushing lad."

"Caring is NOT an advantage," Mycroft mutters petulantly. 

"Do you remember the last time you uttered those words to me?"

"Of course, your Majesty. It was for the Irene Adler case. You threw a shoe at my head."

"There is nothing to be ashamed about if you have finally found someone to care for, Mycroft. Tell me about the woman."

"Man," Mycroft corrects softly, with a cautious look at the Queen. "I've found a man that made me reevaluate my stance on caring."

"Wonderful!"

With this approval, Mycroft finds his tongue loosened. "His name is Gregory Lestrade, and he's a Detective Inspector with New Scotland Yard."

"Detective Inspector! Good for you!"

Mycroft goes red again, but says "I can show him to you, if you like." The Queen nods her approval, so Mycroft grabs his laptop and brings up the CCTV footage. After a brief search, he is zooming the camera in so Gregory takes up the screen. Gregory looks up from the crime scene, and it's as though the man is staring directly into his soul. Gregory grins at something, then waggled his fingers in greeting. Donovan says something to him, which gets a nod, then Gregory is looking back at the camera and blowing a kiss. Donovan gawks at him, but he ignores it. 

"My, he is quite the looker! Very handsome! Congratulations, Mycroft."

Mycroft's phone chimes, and he glances at it. 'Sure hope that was you on the camera. If not, some other person just got a bit of a flirtatious show. -GL'

'Just me and the Queen of England. -MH'

'Lol. Sarcasm suits you. -GL'

'Not sarcasm. -MH'

'Do you mean to tell me I just flirted with you while the Queen watched?! -GL'

'Yes. -MH'  
'She wholeheartedly approves. -MH'

'That's encouraging, at least. I'm off to 221B. John invited me over. See you later tonight. -GL'

'See you then, Gregory. -MH'  
.............................................................  
Greg drives to 221B, parks his car, and heads inside, jogging cheerfully up the steps. 

He knocks on the door and hears a muffled shout, so he enters. John is sitting on the sofa looking peeved. "What are you doing here, Greg?"

This stops him. "You texted me to come over!"

"No, I did," says Sherlock, sweeping into the room. "I'm going to Tesco's for milk."

"Hang on, you're doing what?" John demands, incredulous. 

"I'm going to purchase milk. In the meantime, you can watch John and be sure he doesn't get up, Detective Inspector."

John sits there grumpily on the couch as Sherlock leaves. "He hired a babysitter for me because he's going to be gone ten minutes? He's driving me crazy, Greg. I'm not hurt at all, went to Bart's at Sherlock's insistence to make sure. Not even a concussion. But Sherlock's decided I'm at risk for increased intracranial pressure-which I'm not- and won't let me get up at all. He even carries me to the bathroom! Thankfully he leaves for that part, but he won't let me do anything! Sod this, I'm getting up."

Lestrade tackles him to the couch. "Don't you dare! I'm not getting in trouble because you did!" John tries to fight him off, but Greg tackles him to the couch again. "Just stay there, John!"

This is the scene Sherlock comes back to, Greg pinning John to the couch. "Sherlock! Get your babysitter off me! I'm not even hurt!"

"Lestrade, you can let him go. Thank you for attempting to follow orders."

"I'm fine! I was a doctor and a soldier, Sherlock, I can handle a small headache. There's no medical reason I can't get up."

"Sorry for trying to care!" Sherlock yells back. He storms off, slamming a door somewhere in the flat. 

Lestrade follows him. Ordinarily, he'd leave at this point, but he has a moral obligation to the detective that won't let him leave before ensuring he's not going to take drugs. Seeing as how John's standing there frozen, mouthing "He cares?" with a shocked expression on his face, he won't be of help. 

Greg follows Sherlock, knocking on the shut door. "It's open," Sherlock calls. Greg enters, and Sherlock's face falls. 

"You're not John."

"No, I'm not. What happened out there, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shrugs, dramatically swooping his coat around him and falling onto the bed. "I just wanted to be sure he was okay."

"By carrying him to the bathroom? Sherlock, he's not hurt. He can do that himself. Why don't you just tell him you were worried? Or maybe you could save us all the trouble and confess you like him?"

"He's. Not. Gay," Sherlock says tersely. 

"Right, he's bisexual," Greg agrees. 

"Yes, and the only time he confessed such feelings was when I insulted you. The conclusion is obvious."

Greg stops and thinks for a moment. "No, it's not obvious to me, Sherlock."

"He never once admitted to being bisexual with me! The obvious conclusion then is that he doesn't like me, he likes you!"

Greg is taken so off-guard with this conclusion that he starts laughing. He almost falls over from laughing so hard. Once he calms down to take a breath, he asks, "You don't really believe that, right?"

"What other solution is there?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe he's scared of rejection?"

"John's not scared of anything."

"Except the Baskerville Hound." A faint smile crosses Sherlock's mouth at the memory. "He doesn't like me. Open your eyes, Sherlock. You see, but you do not observe. Look for the truth. Maybe actually talk to him about this. Last I checked, he's capable of conversation. And know that if you're in here by yourself to get high rather than to sulk, I will personally lock you in rehab myself."

"I'm insulted," Sherlock sneers, but he leaves his bedroom and moves out to have a strop on the couch. 

"I'm leaving now, John. I think you'll be fine without me babysitting."

As he gets into his car, Greg's phone rings. 

"This is Greg."

"I need you to watch our daughter tomorrow, Greg." Greg glares into his mirror, recognizing the voice of his ex-wife on the phone. 

"I can't. I have plans."

"So do I. I need your help."

"I'm busy."

"We had her together, in case you forgot. You haven't done anything to help me with her lately. You're watching her tomorrow."

"You told me I wasn't allowed to see her!"

"I changed my mind."

"That's rich. I'll watch her some other time, but not tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll tell her that her father doesn't want to see her. Goodbye, Greg." The click is loud in Greg's ear. He growls low in his throat and puts the car into drive, pulling away from the curb. His seven-year-old daughter will grow up thinking he hates her. Maybe he can pick her up from school soon, take her home to watch Disney movies with him for a while. He resolves to put it out of his mind for now as he drives down the road. No need for a car accident, after all.


	15. Sightseeing and Greg's Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of nondescript BDSM in this chapter- NOT between any of our favorite boys.

Although Greg had come back in a bad mood yesterday, it finds itself resolving in the morning. It is a rare sunny day in England, and they will be outside all day. 

By noontime, they have visited the Tower of London, which entices Gregory to act like an imprisoned person, and Buckingham Palace. He, Estella, and Felipe are taking pictures everywhere. Greg had even begun speaking in a French accent, and was consequentially behaving as though he'd never seen any of the famous sites before. Mycroft is removed from their ridiculousness, though if he's honest with himself, he likes watching Gregory act ridiculous. 

"Fancy seeing you here," Greg heard, and he turned to see his son standing there smiling at him. 

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Greg questions, thrilled. After a cautious look around for Estella and Felipe, and noting they are quite some distance away, still smiling with the guards of Buckingham Palace, he says, "Son, I'd like to officially introduce you to my temporary husband, Mr. Mycroft Holmes."

"Pleasure, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft nods, shaking the boy's hand unsmiling. Internally, he is deducing. Gregory's son has a firm handshake and makes direct eye contact, a good sign for someone so young. The calluses on his palms denote a hard worker; he's not entitled to anything and he knows it, determined to make his own way in the world. Mycroft decides he likes Gregory's son. 

"I just got done with a football game. That's why I told Mom I couldn't watch my sister today."

"Yes, she phoned me last night."

"Really? She must be really desperate, no offense Dad. I know Mom wanted to keep you away from her."

"I know. What's your mother got planned today? Shagging the gym teacher?"

"Don't ask, don't tell, that's my policy. Works great- I don't get information I don't want about her and my old teacher, she doesn't have to hear about the boyfriend she chooses to delude herself into believing doesn't exist."

Greg laughs. "Seems perfectly logical. So long as you're respectful."

"'Course I am. You raised me better than that."

Estella and Felipe wander over. "Is this your son, Greg? He looks just like you!" Felipe observes. 

"Yes, this is my son from my first marriage."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the young man says, extending his hand to shake both hands. His watch chimes, and he glanced down at it. "Gotta run. I promised I'd pick my boyfriend up from class. Nice to meet you, good seeing you again Mycroft, love you Dad."

He jogs off, crossing the busy street in front of them. 

"Your son is as charming as you are, Greg," Estella comments. 

"Runs in the family," Mycroft says lightly, putting an arm around Gregory. "I was thinking we could visit the London Eye next, if you two are amenable." 

The Santiagos agree, so they head there next. "You guys go ahead," Greg says as they stand in line. "Im staying with Mycroft." The man is already standing back from the line, so Greg knows he won't be going. The two nod, smiling, and Greg leaves them to go back with Mycroft. 

"Hey, handsome," he says, wrapping his arm around Mycroft's waist and leaning into him. 

"Why aren't you with the others?"

"I just wanted to be with you. Are you having fun today?"

"I do not have fun, Gregory. It's been a very long time since I have. But I like watching you have fun with Estella and Felipe."

"That's good," Greg said. They stand in comfortable silence for a moment. 

The peace is shattered by a little girl's voice. "Daddy? Daddy!" Greg jerks up in time to watch his seven-year-old daughter run out into the busy street. A car careens toward her, and Greg screams wordlessly as he runs for his daughter, knowing he can never get to her in time. 

Before she can be hit, a tall, curly-haired detective runs into the street and grabs her. "Uncle Sherlock!" the child cries, delighted. 

Sherlock shakes her. "Don't you EVER run into a street without looking! You nearly got killed!" 

She begins to cry. " 'M sorry, Uncle Sherlock."

"Apologize to your father, not me."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

Greg takes his daughter from Sherlock, and she instantly nuzzles her tear-stained face into his shirt. Greg is shaking, he realizes belatedly. He moves to Sherlock, and wraps an arm around him tightly. "Thank you so much. How did you manage to be in the right place at the right time like that?"

"John and I were out chasing a criminal. I saw her go to cross the street, and veered toward her instead. John went on to catch the man."

As if his name summoned him, John is jogging across the street toward them. "Got the guy! Anderson was on patrol nearby, so I turned him over."

Sherlock sneers, but says nothing. 

"Honey, where is your mother?" Greg asks. "Why isn't she watching you?"

"Mommy told me to entertain myself. I'm old 'nough to watch myself," she told him proudly. "I have to come back by the time my watch reads two zero zero, or Mommy will be mad."

Greg checks his own watch. It's 12:35, so they have a while yet to go. "Where are you meeting Mommy? Can you show me?"

The little girl nods, and Greg carries her across the street, setting her down once it is safe. She takes his hand, tugging him along incessantly. Mycroft's hand slips into his free one, and he can feel Sherlock hovering behind him. They walk in a tight knot until Greg's daughter stops, tugging his arm to halt him. "Here, Daddy."

Greg looks up at the sketchy-looking building. It looks worn-down and dirty, instantly putting his guard up. "In here?"

"Yes, but I can't go in. Mommy said."

"I'll wait with you," Sherlock volunteers. 

Greg feels like he's about to throw up. Looking at the bar, he had the feeling it's a BDSM club. At the end of his rope, he calls Sally for help. 

Sally, bless her heart, shows up five minutes later, brewing with righteous indignation for Greg and his daughter. She storms into the bar, then storms out two minutes later to grab Sherlock. "C'mon, Freak. The guy at the desk is an observational jerk who thinks I'm here to role play in my cop uniform. So I'm fighting fire with fire." 

Greg's eyes widen, and he runs in after them, passing his daughter to Mycroft. Had he been watching the man's face, he would've seen the horrified expression that screamed, 'What am I supposed to do with this thing?' But he doesn't look, so Mycroft is left to babysit. 

Greg's daughter turns to him. "Who are you?" 

"I'm Sherlock's brother."

"Uncle Sherlock?"

"He's not truly your uncle," Mycroft answers, unsure of what else to say. 

The answering laugh is Greg's, making Mycroft a lot more comfortable with this tiny creature. "O'course not, silly! But Daddy says I can call him Uncle Sherlock, and Uncle Sherlock said so too. What's your name?"

"Mycroft," he tells the little girl. 

"Uncle Mycroft," the little girl says, smiling beatifically up at him. Mycroft finds himself smiling back at her. "Do you play Uno, Uncle Mycroft?"

"Not for a very long time. Sherlock and I preferred Operation when we were little. He always cried if we played Uno, because he didn't like the draw four cards."

"I have Uno cards, Uncle Mycroft. Can you play with me?" And that is how Mycroft Holmes found himself sitting on the gravel in his three piece suit, outside a BDSM club, playing Uno with a child.  
.............................................................  
Meanwhile, inside the club, Gregory, Sally, and Sherlock are having trouble. The man at the front desk is trying to figure out if Greg or Sherlock is the Dominant in their relationship, while offering Sally a book of Submissives to look through. 

Frustrated, Sherlock slams his hand on the counter. "If you do not give us access to these rooms immediately so we can find the irresponsible mother we came here for, I will speak to my brother about deleting all evidence of the alimony checks you are paying to support your newborn son. Then I will call your ex-girlfriend and warn her to never allow her child near you again, considering you haven't stopped working here as you promised you would."

The man's eyes widen. "Hey, buddy, look around at whatever you need. No need to do that." He waves an arm invitingly, and Sherlock runs off down the hallway. Greg follows him with Sally hot on his heels.

Sherlock strides into a room. Greg's wife is chained to a cross, and a tall man with dark hair stands behind her brandishing a whip. "Hey!" he protests as Sherlock frees the woman. Sherlock pays him no heed. 

"Sherlock? What the f*** are you doing here? This is a private place!"

"Do your three boyfriends all know you are involved in this type of lifestyle? Well, obviously one of them does, seeing as how he's behind you, but I doubt the gym teacher knows about this, mainly because the poor man thinks you're exclusive. Dumb of him, you already cheated on your husband with him, why wouldn't you cheat on him with someone else?"

"Get out of here, you freak!" She whirls around then exclaims "Greg?!" in shock. 

"Three boyfriends? And who the f*** is Greg?"

Greg offers his hand to the guy. "Gregory Lestrade, Detective Inspector and ex-husband to this woman you were hurting."

"Look, nothing we did here was illegal. There was a contract and everything."

"Nothing you did here was illegal," Greg agrees. "But leaving a seven-year-old to wander the streets of London and nearly get hit by a car, that's child neglect and can get you arrested." Saying this, he swings his gaze up to pin the woman he once loved with a glare.

"She's fine! I told her to come back by two!"

"She ran in front of a car and was nearly hit. It's only thanks to Sherlock she's still alive!"

Sally places a calming hand on Greg's shoulder, then steps forward to arrest the woman. As they all step out into the sunlight, Greg instantly locates his daughter, sitting on the gravel with Mycroft playing a card game. He smiles, then turns and vomits on the ground as the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes get to him. 

Footsteps come close and Mycroft's strong arms are wrapping around Gregory comfortingly. Greg frowns up at Mycroft. "Why wasn't I good enough for her?" he whispered softly. 

"You are good enough, Gregory. Anyone who can't see that is a fool." He pulls Gregory up gently, then kisses him full on the mouth, uncaring of the people watching them or the vomit on the ground. Gregory needs him to feel valued, and he will not abandon him now. 

"Uncle Sherlock, Uncle Mycroft just kissed Daddy!"

"Adults do that sometimes," responds Sherlock. 

"Oh. So you kiss John, Uncle Sherlock?" Sherlock sputters in response. 

Gregory pulls away from Mycroft, and a tired smile creeps onto his face. "Thank you so much. I know you don't have to do that, but I really appreciate it." His eyes grow as he realizes something. "Oh my gosh, we forgot Felipe and Estella!"

"No, we didn't," Mycroft reassured him. "I asked John to stay with them until we got back." 

They troop back to the Ferris wheel. John is standing with Felipe and Estella, talking animatedly. As they approach, Estella turns to them. "You have such lovely acquaintances, Gregory. Everyone we've met has been kind."

"Yes, they're all wonderful. They keep me strong," Greg replies. 

John slips away to speak with Sherlock about something. After a brief conversation, he slips in next to Greg. Mycroft has distracted Felipe and Estella. "Hey. Sherlock told me what happened. You okay?"

Greg shrugs. "Do I have a choice?" he questions, only half joking. 

"Sherlock and I talked, and we'll watch your daughter tonight, if you want." Greg stares at him with panicked eyes. "And when I say that, I mean I will be watching her, and Sherlock will be there too, because he lives with me." Greg can't resist, he raises his eyebrows teasingly at John. "Oh shut up, you know it's not like that." Greg leers at him. "You wanna play that game? We're taking your daughter so you can do the dirty with Mycroft tonight." Greg turns scarlet. "Yeah, I thought that would make you stop. That's not why we're doing it, I promise. We're doing it so you can have a well-deserved rest, and get spoiled rotten by the man who you adore, even if he doesn't know it- well, that's why I'm offering. Only God knows Sherlock's motivation. But if you end up together, you owe me." 

Greg laughs heartily, throwing an arm around John. "Okay, you can watch my daughter, you loon."

Greg tells his daughter that Uncle Sherlock and John want her to spend the night. Far from being upset, she's excited about being with them, which makes Greg feel a lot less guilty about dumping his daughter on other people so soon after getting to reconnect with her, after six months apart. John loops his arm around her, talking to Felipe and Estella. 

"That would be lovely," Felipe says. 

"Right, then it's settled. We'll continue sightseeing, and Mycroft you can take Greg home. Bye, guys!" Without giving either stunned man a chance to respond, John leads the group off. 

"Let's go home," Greg tells Mycroft softly.


	16. Heartbreak and Ice Cream

Mycroft has his driver take him and Gregory home. As soon as they enter the car, Gregory lets out a soft sigh of relief. He curls against Mycroft and doesn't move for the rest of the journey. If not for the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, and his occasional blinking, Mycroft would worry he died there on his shoulder. 

Once the car pulls in to the mansion, Gregory is out of the car, walking listlessly toward the mansion. He unlocks the door and steps inside. 

"What do you need?" Mycroft asks, feeling useless. This display is the reason he always believed caring wasn't an advantage. Gregory cared for the woman, and consequently his heart is broken. In fact, Gregory must still care for the woman if his heart is broken. 

With this revelation, Mycroft feels his own heart shatter as well. It's an odd feeling, the organ that he ignored most causing him such intense pain. The pain is nearly too much, and Mycroft feels an unexpected wave of sympathy for Gregory. If this is a broken heart, it hurts! He doesn't like it, not at all, and it is Gregory's fault for melting him, opening him to these emotions, then taking his fragile freezer-burnt heart and crushing it underfoot. 

"Mycroft, you alright?" he hears Gregory's voice ask in a voice sounding like it's coming through a tunnel. 

"Fine," Mycroft replies, attempting to maintain his dignity. "I want ice cream. And hot chocolate."

He stalks off, and returns a few minutes later with two large bowls of ice cream and two mugs of hot chocolate. He offers Gregory his half of the supplies, sitting down to enjoy his own portion. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Seeing Mycroft's look, he paused a moment, but soldiered on. "You've been telling me you're on a diet all week, now you want nothing to eat but sugar."

"I am a grown man, Gregory, I can consume what I wish."

"Talk to me, Mycroft. What's going on in that brain of yours?"

Mycroft sighs, deciding to deliver a half-truth. After all, he is a politician by nature, and this is what he does best. "I'm mildly upset with you for making me feel your pain. I don't like sympathizing with people." Mycroft shudders delicately. "Your broken heart is inconvenient at best, and an annoyance at worst."

Gregory laughs. "Well next time I'll wallow in my humiliation on my own. I'll just tell you about it later so you have an excuse to eat ice cream."

"Humiliation?" Mycroft questions, stuck on the first part of Gregory's statement. 

"Yes, humiliation. Why did you think I was upset? I got to go drag my ex-wife out of a BDSM club, my daughter very nearly died because I didn't fight my ex-wife for custody of her six months ago, I puked all over the ground, and to wrap up this soap I call my life, you, Sherlock, John, and Sally were all witnesses to my massive screw ups!"

"Oh." Mycroft takes a moment to search through his Mind Filing Cabinet, trying to determine if this is legitimate. Is it possible Gregory isn't heartbroken after all? Mycroft had no idea. He doesn't have much knowledge on emotions, so about the only thing he has filed is the knowledge he just found a moment ago-it's painful. 

Greg can tell the exact moment he loses Mycroft to his brain. His face takes on a subtle change, eyes vaguely unfocused. The whole experience takes place unobtrusively, but Greg notices because he knows Mycroft. Greg waits patiently for Mycroft to surface. Several minutes later, Mycroft's eyes snap to his, and Greg smiles at him reassuringly. 

"You're not upset with me?"

"For spacing out? Of course not, Mycroft."

"No, for yelling at you."

"You're emotionally volatile right now because you're allowing yourself to feel. It's okay. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm an emotional volcano at the moment, exploding my feelings all over the place," he comments, only partly joking. "We're both okay."

Mycroft's mouth opens and closes a few times, and Greg has the distinct impression he's about to say something important. A declaration of love? No, probably not, this is Mycroft, who only just recently discovered that caring could be an advantage. Perhaps a thank you, instead? 

Mycroft has many things he wants to say to Gregory. 'I love you' is one of them, but he has no evidence Gregory has any kind of emotional attachment to him, so he discards that. 'Thank you' would also be appropriate, but rather useless compared to all the other things he'd like to say. But now Gregory is watching him, and Mycroft is-dare he admit it- panicking, so his mouth finally says "Eat your ice cream, Gregory."

'Really?' he chastises himself mentally. 'That's the best you could do?' Time to access the Mind Filing Cabinet again. He should do something flirty, to make his feelings clear, since apparently his verbalization ability has deserted him. He remembers the one romantic comedy he has ever seen in his life, a frilly ridiculous movie Mummy had wanted to see that he watched with her at her insistence. There was a scene in which the female lead had wanted to reveal her feelings to the male lead, but couldn't, so she wiped ice cream on his nose instead. Perhaps Gregory has seen the same movie, and will understand what he is trying to communicate. 

Decision made, Mycroft swirls his pointer finger in the ice cream. Once it is coated with chocolate, he leans over and swipes the mess across Gregory's cheek. 

Gregory's mouth falls open in shock. "Did you just wipe ice cream across my face?"

"Yes," Mycroft admits. He's caught off-guard by Gregory tackling him, pinning him to the couch so he can return the favor. Mycroft twists so they both fall off the couch onto the floor, Gregory on the bottom, but cradling the man's head gently so he doesn't get another concussion. He smears more ice cream across Gregory's face while the advantage lies with him. 

Gregory attempts to roll them, but Mycroft jumps off him instead. "C'mere, Mycroft," Gregory calls teasingly. 

"I believe I'll remain over here, thank you," he responds. While he is trying to wipe the ice cream off his face, Gregory springs for a second attack. 

Unfortunately, he is successful, so Mycroft finds himself pinned beneath Gregory with more ice cream smeared mercilessly on his face. They are both laughing, but then the air changes, and Gregory looks at Mycroft seriously. 

"I'm going to lick this off your face. If you want me to stop, tell me now." 

'This is unexpected,' Mycroft thinks. He's not sure he likes this idea, but he lies still, compliant for Gregory. Gregory leans down so he is better balanced, and swipes his tongue at the chocolate on Mycroft's nose. Mycroft's gasp is loud in the quiet room, and Gregory immediately stops.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking!" 

He leaps off Mycroft like the room is on fire and flees upstairs to his office. 

'My gosh, I just licked Mycroft Holmes! Why did I do that? I ruined everything! He definitely won't like me now! Okay, solution: if he brings it up, apologize. If not, pretend it never happened.'

Meanwhile on the floor of his parlor, Mycroft makes a mental note of that experience to store in his Mind Filing Cabinet, and laughs to himself. 'Better results than expected' he thinks. 'I need to be sure I have more ice cream in the freezer. Trial one successful.' Perhaps Gregory hadn't realized the ice cream battle was a declaration of love, but the end result Mycroft was completely fine with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I'm not quite sure what happened with this chapter: I planned it as fluff, then started with angst, and somehow got teeth-rotting fluff at the end. And of course, once again our boys are completely blind to the fact that they both like each other.


	17. Cafe Conversation

Mycroft doesn't become worried about the ice cream fiasco until he still hasn't seen Gregory once it is bedtime. Frowning, he searches the entire house top to bottom for his missing husband. When at last he finds him, he crawls in bed next to him and blacks out as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

"Mycroft?" Gregory shouts the next morning, waking him. "What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to be with you," Mycroft apologizes, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. 

A knock on the bedroom door stops Gregory's answer. "Are you alright, sirs?" 

"Fine," Gregory calls. He and Mycroft return to their bedroom, preparing for the morning. "So I was thinking I'd get my daughter from Sherlock and John after work. I texted John already, he said that would be fine."

"I'll meet you at work around 4:30 and we'll go get her together," Mycroft offers. "I'll be working from home today ironing out the alliance with Felipe."

Gregory purses his lips, thinking. "Fine," he agreed finally. 

Mycroft stares at him blankly. He can't help but feel there is a wall between him and Gregory- a wall he has no idea how it came up, or even worse, why it was there. "Gregory, about yesterday-" Mycroft begins. 

"Crap, I'm gonna be late! See you later, Mycroft!" he yells as he bounds downstairs. 

Greg jumps into his car feeling like he dodged a bullet. He's pretty sure Mycroft was getting ready to discuss the ice cream incident, which Greg spent all night trying to get out of his head. He certainly did not think about how nice it was, and he definitely did not spend any time AT ALL considering Mycroft's chest beneath his three piece suit, because he knows from lying on top of him that the man has more muscle than he would've first thought. Not that he's spent any time thinking about Mycroft shirtless. Because he hasn't. 

With thoughts like these running through his head, Greg finds it to be a miracle he made it to work without an accident. And better yet, he's on time. 

Frustratingly enough, the workday drags on. There's no crime, and Greg suddenly understands why Sherlock would shoot a wall due to boredom. Since there's nothing to distract him, Greg spends most of the morning daydreaming about Mycroft's abs. 

"Lestrade? Lestrade? Greg!" Greg jumps a mile as his brain registers Sally's angry voice nearby. She is leaning over his desk, attempting to get his attention, and from the thunderous look on her face, Greg figures this wasn't the first time she tried. "Phil and I are going to lunch. Did you want to come too?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks. Sorry."

They walk to the cafe down the street, because the rain has stopped and Anderson is insisting they could all use the exercise. Halfway there, the skies open up in a torrential downpour, soaking them all to the bone instantly and prompting them to flat-out run to the cafe. Greg outpaces the other two quickly, but holds the door open for his friends. "Hurry up!" he calls. Sally decides it would be romantic to kiss Anderson in the rain, causing Greg to shake his head in exasperation. "C'mon! I'm not holding the door so you two can kiss in the rain!" Breaking apart, the couple stumbles into the cafe, laughing. 

Greg shakes his head a bit at their immaturity and moves to the counter to order a coffee and large sandwich. He finds a table and settles in, Donovan and Anderson joining him a minute later with a tea and a coffee, respectively. 

As they wait for their order, Anderson asks, "You okay today Greg?"

Having zoned out again, Greg says, "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Sally argues. "Spill."

Greg's order is called, and he goes to the counter. He briefly considers leaving before Sally can drag his feelings out of him -and my gosh, isn't he just like Mycroft now, thinking like that- but he'd like to talk to someone, so he steels himself and returns to the table. Thankfully, their orders are called, so Greg takes the opportunity to shove as much food as humanly possible into his mouth at one time, to stall another minute. 

Sally returns first and glares at him. "Don't think just because your mouth is full, you're not going to talk to us."

Just to be childish, Greg takes a huge mouthful of food and chews it as slowly as possible. As soon as Greg swallows, Sally demands, "Speak!"

"Woof woof," is Greg's sassy response. 

"Gregory Lestrade, tell me what is going on with you right now!"

"You already know most of it."

"Ugh, tell me you're not upset about that drama with your ex-wife. That woman is not worth it."

"No, that's not it." He doesn't offer up any more information, taking another bite of his sandwich. 

Sally can tell he's not opening up without prompting, so she switches tactics. "What's with you and The Freak's brother?"

"That's the problem. Think of how bad Sherlock is with expressing his feelings, multiply it by ten, and you have Mycroft. I can't read him at all. And I kinda fell for him. But we are pretending to be married for an alliance. So whenever I'm with him, I can't tell if he likes me or is just acting for the alliance."

"Couldn't you ask him?" Anderson asks, confused. 

"And risk scaring him off? He's the best thing that's happened to me recently, I can't ruin that."

"You're going to have to admit it someday, Greg."

"Obviously. Once he tells me how he's feeling, I'll follow suit."

Sally shoots Anderson a dubious look when Greg's not watching. If The Freak's Brother doesn't talk about feelings, Greg will have to make the first move. If he's not planning to say anything, they will be dancing around each other for all eternity. Someone will have to intervene. 

"Has he done anything to make you think he might like you?" Sally questions. 

"I can't read him! He's so used to not expressing emotions that anytime he feels anything, he just shuts down. Like yesterday after that whole ex-wife drama, we were sitting there eating ice cream when he got it into his mind to wipe ice cream on my face. So I tackled him and returned the favor. One minute, I have him pinned to the ground, the next I'm licking ice cream off his nose! He groaned, so I leapt away and hid."

Sally stares at him dubiously. "If I understood you correctly, you pinned him and were literally on top of him on the floor. And you don't know if he likes you?"

"Right!" Greg answers, relieved she understands. 

Anderson and Donovan exchange knowing glances. "I'm saying this as your friend, Greg. You're an idiot."

"Gee, thanks Sally. I feel better now."

"Hang on, I'm not finished. If he let you pin him to the ground and lick him, he likes you too." Greg tried to interrupt, but Sally's on a roll. "Honey, what more do you need? A bat signal saying 'Greg! Mycroft! Pull your head out of your butt and get together!'"

"I can't lose him, Sally. If you're right, well, I still need to hear the words from him. I've already loved and lost one person. If I did it again, I wouldn't be able to handle it. But thank you. I'm happy to hear there might be hope for us yet."

Greg decides to leave, gathering his trash and throwing it out as an excuse to avoid eye contact or further conversation. As he hustled out the door, Sally turned to her boyfriend. "Those two are never going to be together unless someone intervenes."

"I wholeheartedly agree."

"Do you know where Sherlock's brother works or lives?"

"Not at all. I never knew Sherlock had a brother."

"I met him about a week ago. He came to the Yard. If he does again, I'm going to ambush him. You can help."

"Whatever you say," Anderson responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to theartstudentyouhate for the sassy bat signal comment. 
> 
> Also, sorry for not updating sooner, I've got finals coming up. I'm so close to being done I can taste it!


	18. Ambushed Inside a Closet

At precisely quarter to four, Mycroft Holmes was exiting his black car to the New Scotland Yard. Gregory would be done in fifteen minutes, then it was on to 221B Baker Street to rescue Gregory's daughter from Sherlock. 

Swinging his umbrella, Mycroft stepped inside. There was a bit of chaos to the Yard, the kind that accompanies any functional business. Employees scurried around, most of them nearly on the way out themselves and trying to finish the last bit of paperwork before they stopped for the day. Mycroft picks his way around the employees, heading to Gregory's office. 

"Mr. Holmes!" The woman he had spoken with earlier in the week, Sally Donovan, was calling him. Sighing internally, he moved over to the woman. Although she was typing something on a computer, she quickly finished and filed her work. "I'd like a word with you, Mr. Holmes."

"I have a few minutes before Gregory gets off."

"Yes, I know. Come with me, please." She leaps the desk and places a hand on the small of Mycroft's back, guiding him. Glancing around the office, she locates Anderson and flags him down, unbeknownst to Mycroft. Anderson obediently follows. 

"In here, please," Sally says, opening a closet door for Mycroft to enter. Mycroft turns and raises a skeptical eyebrow at her. "No need to be scared, Mr. Holmes. In spite of the things Sherlock may have told you, I am a professional police officer."

"I'm not scared, but I do have the sense to be wary of closets and strange women. And men," he adds, glancing over at Anderson. 

"Wonderful. You're well on your way to being good for our boss." Sally shoves him into the closet, grabbing Anderson's hand to tug him inside too, and closing the door behind them, flicking on the overhead light. "I apologize for the closet, but my office is right next to Greg's, so here we are instead."

"And I don't have an office to loan," Anderson says. 

Mycroft says nothing. He's deducing, trying to see why they have essentially locked him inside a closet. He can't determine anything, so he waits for the woman to reveal her motives. 

"As I'm sure you've already figured out, Phil and I have a good relationship with our boss." Mycroft nods in agreement. Years of stalking-observing via CCTV- Gregory at crime scenes with Sherlock has certainly revealed as much. "Here's the thing: Greg's already had his heart broken once. We don't want you to hurt him again."

On the inside, Mycroft is shocked. These two pulled him into a closet to discuss feelings? "Have no fear of that. Gregory is not in love with me."

"You're wrong," Anderson counters. "He's been much happier since you came along. See, we don't care that you're a guy, or even that your Sherlock's brother. We just want you to be careful with Greg. For some reason, he's fallen in love with you, and we care enough about him that we don't want him to end up hurt again."

This is news to Mycroft. Could Gregory be in love with him? "Don't be ridiculous," he sneers. "Gregory would never fall for me." Mycroft goes to leave, but is yanked back by Sally's hand on his arm. 

Gregory's voice sounds just outside the door. "Hey Dimmock, have you seen Donovan or Anderson? Wanted to let them know I got my paperwork done."

"Haven't seen 'em, Lestrade."

"Hmm, okay. Do you know if there was any accidents recently? Mycroft was supposed to be here soon, and I'm getting a little worried."

Inside the closet, Sally and Phil both fix Mycroft with an 'I told you so' look.

"I don't think there was. Who's Mycroft?"

"My boyfriend," Gregory throws the words out challengingly, as though daring Dimmock to disapprove. 

"Oh, that's why you've been happier lately!" Another 'I told you so' look. "Good for you! How long you been dating?" 

"Almost two weeks."

"Tell him if he don't treat you right he's gonna have the whole of Scotland Yard on his head."

"I don't think he'll be scared. He's practically the British Government."

Dimmock laughs. "Good for you," he repeats. "If I see any posh looking official man, I'll point him your direction."

Footsteps, then Mycroft, Sally, and Phil tumble out of the closet. Mycroft sweeps off toward Gregory's office, completely ignoring the other two. They've thrown him off kilter, with this discussion of feelings. 'Can Gregory truly love me? I don't know; how can I know?'

He halts outside of Gregory's office, just watching the man inside for a moment. He has always liked to watch Gregory, it's calming, and the effect works now too. All of Mycroft's fear wears away as he watches Gregory. 

Gregory looks up, and it's like the sun came out, the way his face lights up. "Mycroft! I was getting worried."

"Here I am," Mycroft says softly, stepping into Gregory's office. 

"Are you okay, Mycroft? You look a little worried. Is everything okay with the alliance?"

"Yes, Felipe and I looked it over and sent it off to his boss. He and the Queen will sign it tomorrow in a public ceremony."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Merely contemplating the future, Gregory. Do not be alarmed. Are you ready to go rescue your daughter from my brother's clutches?"

Gregory stares at him a moment, but decides to drop it. "Okay, let's go."

He stands up, and Mycroft acts. He throws himself at Gregory, slamming him against the door and kissing him fiercely. He pours all his emotions in the kiss, everything he feels but can't express, and wills Gregory to understand. Gregory half-moans, half-groans, but before anything else can happen, before any important declarations can be issued by either party, the door flies open and nails Gregory in the back of the head.

"Hey, Greg, I found Donovan and Anderson!"

"Thanks," Gregory answers, rubbing his head gingerly. "I was just leaving."

Before Mycroft can feel rejected, Gregory's hand slips into his, wrapping securely around him and setting his mind at ease. 

"Sally! Phil! I have my paperwork all done and filed, and I'll see you two tomorrow."

"Bye, boss," they chime, and Gregory and Mycroft exit together, still holding hands.


	19. Domestic Life

Gregory climbs in Mycroft's black car, snuggling close. "What was that back there, Mycroft?"

"I just missed you today," Mycroft answers delicately. 

"Good. You can miss me all the time, if that's the response my absence invokes."

"Too lonely," Mycroft declares. 

Gregory smiles. "Alright, then I'll just have to stay around."

It's on the tip of Mycroft's tongue to inquire if this means Gregory will not be moving from his home in two days when the car stops and the driver announces, "We're here, sirs."

"Thank you," Mycroft says, composing himself as he exits the car. He tamps down on his feelings for Gregory, knowing Sherlock will deduce them instantaneously. Still, it is better to attempt to hide the truth from his aggravatingly nosy little brother, lest he be teased mercilessly. Of course, if Sherlock is too annoying Mycroft will simply play the John card. That will silence him. With this comforting idea in mind, he follows Gregory up the stairs and into the flat.

"Daddy! It's almost the song!" Greg takes one look at the TV, which is playing 'The Lion King', jumps the sofa, settling in next to his daughter and instantly bursting into a heartfelt rendition of 'Be Prepared.' Greg's daughter giggles and sings with him.

"Be prepared!" Gregory sings obnoxiously. "Yeah we'll be prepared. For what?" He asks perfectly in tune with the hyenas onscreen. 

"For the death of a King!" Gregory's daughter roars. 

"Yeah! No King, no king, lalalalalala," Gregory singsongs with the hyenas, turning his head with each 'la.' Gregory's daughter giggles, falling onto him. 

"Idiots! There will be a King!"

"But you said-" Gregory's daughter chimes in, swinging up abruptly and very nearly hitting her father. 

Gregory's hand covers her mouth. "I will be King! Stick with me and you'll never go hungry again!"

As the song ends, a commercial comes on. John walks out bringing a plate full of cookies. "Cookies are done," he said, offering the Lestrades the plate. 

"Domestic life suits you, John," Gregory teases his friend. 

"Keep it up and domestic violence will be suiting me," John quips. 

"That's horrible!" Lestrade chides as Sherlock chuckles. 

"We can't giggle, it's a crime scene," John says, looking at Sherlock. Sherlock winks at him but stops laughing. 

"So how was she today?" he asks softly, walking over to John. 

"A perfect angel, compared to what I deal with daily. She can come back anytime."

"I'm so glad to hear that."

"How's the alliance going?" 

"Well," Mycroft answers, having come over to join the conversation, and not because he wanted to be next to Gregory. Not at all. "It will be signed tomorrow."

"Good, that's great!" John responds, grinning at both men. He turns and the smile melts off his face. "Sherlock Holmes! We talked about not doing experiments around a child!"

"It's fine, John. If she spills this, the acid will only eat away at the table, and will not explode the flat... Oh, you've leaked some acid. We'll use this jumper to clean it up, it's John's and it's hideous, so we're doing him a favor. He'll be upset at first but not for long."

Greg, ever the protective father, swoops in to snatch up his daughter before she can be hurt. 

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" Mycroft bellows. 

John interrupts the tirade before it can begin. "Maybe you ought to go. I'll deal with this." He ushers then both out the door, closing it firmly behind them.

"Uncle Sherlock's in trouble with John," announces Greg's daughter. 

"That he is," Greg agrees. 

"Carry me, Uncle Mycroft," the little girl demands, holding out her arms for Mycroft to oblige her. 

He does, seating her warily across his hip. "Go home, Daddy," she orders, and Greg nods. 

"Yes honey. We're going home," he said, grinning at Mycroft. "We're going home."


	20. Break-ins and Confessions

After bringing Gregory's daughter home, Mycroft never actually got a chance to discuss with Gregory a few important things. Mainly, that Mycroft didn't want him to leave in a few days, and that he was in love with Gregory. However, the man was wrapped up in his child, and Mycroft couldn't find it in himself to interrupt. So instead he watched Gregory, memorizing the man's face, speech pattern, laugh, infliction of his voice when he spoke, and all other observable physical details. By the time he finished, Gregory had already drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning was chaotic. The President of Argentina would be flying in today, and there would be meetings all day with him and his wife to ensure there were no last minute changes to the alliance. 

Mycroft picked the man up at the airport, took notes on every suggestion, complaint, and other concerns, and obsessively tracked Gregory via CCTV like a lovesick fool. Mycroft had come to terms with the fact that he loved Gregory at precisely 2:15 am that morning, and now that he had admitted it to himself, he was willing to admit that he was indeed a lovesick fool. 

Then there was the meeting with the Queen of England, the 'discussion' -or rather, heated debate- over small things in the document: a word here, a sentence there to give or take power as they saw fit.

More meetings, and a review of how the signing of this document would proceed. Discussions on the transportation of the two important leaders while keeping them safe, which then led to meetings with security to discuss safety measures in place for both rulers. 

More meetings completed with the sound crew for tomorrow, and a practice run of both speeches to ensure they would be heard by the masses.

By the time these meetings were complete, Mycroft was tired-well, exhausted, really. Nevertheless, he went home to Gregory and valiantly attempted to stay awake while Gregory narrated his day.

"So then, Sherlock calls telling me he's bored again, like it changed within the fifteen minutes since the last time he called saying he was bored and I said...Mycroft, are you asleep?"

"Mmmmffff. No. I'm listening to you, Gregory. You were saying that my brother was bored," Mycroft slurs sleepily. 

Greg smiles fondly at Mycroft, though the man doesn't realize it because his face is buried in the pillow. "Get some sleep, Mycroft."

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Of course."

"Good. Forever." A loud snore, and Mycroft Holmes is asleep. 

"Forever? What are you talking about, Mycroft?" But he is asleep, and Greg will not be cruel by waking him up when he is obviously so tired, so he cuddles into Mycroft, wraps his arms around him, and drifts off to sleep. 

When Mycroft wakes again, it is to a soft alarm playing on his phone. For a brief moment, his sleep-addled brain doesn't recognize why the alarm is sounding, but then it registers, and with it comes the cold ice of fear. Someone is in his house. 

"Gregory! There's someone in the house!" Mycroft hisses urgently, and Gregory jumps to his feet lightly, running to his closet to grab his gun.

They edge down the stairs cautiously, alert for the sounds of an intruder. As they approached the last flight, the sound of a bang, accompanied by muffled swearing, drifts up the stairs. 

Greg flips on the light. "Freeze! I'm a Detective Inspector with the New Scotland Yard, and you're under arrest!"

"Well this is unfortunate. Put the gun down, Geoff, you're not going to arrest me."

"Sherlock? John? It's two o'clock in the morning! WHAT are you doing?"

"Sherlock was bored, so he wanted to break in and look through your files for a case. I'm just here to see Mycroft's house. It's beautiful, by the way."

Greg stares at them both in shock. "You broke in to look for a case, and to admire the decor?"

"Obviously," Sherlock answers, "where did you put your files, Graham? I need to know for the next time I break in."

This stops Greg. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."

"No, you're not," Sherlock argues. "Mycroft wanted-"

Mycroft feels frustrated. Their deal was that he would tell Gregory of his feelings, and Sherlock would follow suit with John. Not that Sherlock would tell Gregory how Mycroft felt. At a complete loss on what to do, he curls his hand in a fist and punches Sherlock. 

Sherlock falls silent as he brings his hand up to his cheek. Mycroft feels really good. If he had known punching his brother felt like this, he would have done it a long time ago. He continues feeling good for all of two and a half seconds, which is the length of time it takes John to lunge the hallway and punch him. 

Mycroft releases a groan of pain, falling against the wall. John can certainly pack a punch. "Mycroft!" Gregory sounds shocked, though he acts quickly. He grabs tissues off the hall table and presses them to Mycroft's bleeding cheek. 

"Gregory?" 

"I'm here, Mycroft."

This causes Mycroft to smile. "I know. His punch didn't affect my vision."

"Why would you punch Sherlock? Not like I haven't wanted to ever, but you're better than I am at reigning in your feelings and ignoring them."

Gregory is sounding borderline confessional, which worries Mycroft. He's discovered feelings, he will tell Gregory how he feels, and he doesn't want Gregory to make his confession first. Especially because it could be a rejection. 

"I punched him because he was getting ready to tell you the truth."

"What truth, Mycroft?"

Mycroft meets the gaze of the man he loves. Taking a deep breath, he takes the irreversible plunge. "The truth of how I feel. I'm in love with you, Gregory Lestrade."

"Oh, thank goodness. I'd really hate to have all my feelings be one-sided. I love you too, Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft reaches forward and pills Gregory to him, kissing him gently on the lips. "Stay here, please. You and your daughter both. I don't want to lose you."

"Yeah, okay," Gregory agrees eloquently, breathless with surprise. 

Mycroft meets Sherlock's gaze above Gregory's silver hair. His expression clearly says, 'Your turn, Brother Mine.'

Sherlock turns to John. "Thank you for punching Mycroft for me. You're a good friend. But I don't want to be friends anymore."

John's mouth falls open. "Fine. I'll pack my things and move in with Harry. That's fine. If you don't want to be friends, I won't force you to be."

"John, no. Didn't I tell you while I'm Baskerville, 'I don't have friends; I have just one?' You are a good friend John. I'd be lost without my blogger, you can't leave!"

"But you just said-"

"I don't want to be friends, John! Ugh, I hate discussions of feelings! You don't understand! I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you, and you're not comprehending that!"

Poor John looks like he is going to die of shock in a few minutes. "What did you just say?"

"I'm not repeating it! Once was enough."

"Please, Sherlock? For me?"

"John Watson, I'm trying to tell you I love you. You are my heart."

"I love you too, so much." John pulls Sherlock into a kiss, which lasts long enough to cause Mycroft and Greg to look away, blushing. "Right then," John says when he and Sherlock have finally separated for air. "I don't think we need a case right now. Let's go home, Sherlock. Sorry for breaking into your house, Mycroft." With these words, the boys from 221B take their leave. 

Gregory chuckles. "Wow, what a night!"

Mycroft smiles, then pulls Gregory up the stairs with him, knowing it is early and he should get some more rest before the ceremony. And if instead of getting rest, he and Gregory spend the rest of the night kissing and eventually progressing to making out, well, no one but the four walls of Mycroft's bedroom were witnesses, and who would they tell?


	21. Resolutions: The Signing of an Alliance

Mycroft Holmes stood behind the Queen of England in front of Buckingham Palace, observing as she wrote her name on the alliance with a flourish. She passed the pen to Argentinian President Mauricio Macri, who signs his name with a flourish. Like that, everything Mycroft had been striving for in the past week resolved itself. 

As the crowd of onlookers bursts into applause, Mycroft stares over the top of the Argentinian President's head to make eye contact with Felipe and Estella. They both grin happily at him, and he allows himself a slight smile at them in response. 

He turns toward the crowd of goldfish pressing in obnoxiously, searching for the man he loves. A gleam of attractive silver hair in the sunlight, shining like a medal, and Mycroft finds himself smiling at Gregory. Gregory smiles back, then pulls out his phone and texts something. 'Most likely Sherlock, bored again in spite of John,' Mycroft thinks. 

A moment later his phone vibrates, and he peers at the tiny screen. 

'We did it- GL'

Mycroft smiles at him, sending back a quick answer. 'Yes we did-MH'

They retreat to Buckingham Palace, away from the masses, to have a celebratory luncheon. A few minutes later Gregory is slipping into the seat next to Mycroft, looping an arm over his shoulder. Heedless of the people around them, Mycroft quickly kisses Gregory. Suddenly the need for propriety establishes itself, and Mycroft pulls away a bit, mindful of the fact that he just kissed Gregory in front of the Queen, who just so happens to be his employer. 

"So you two finally got together? Good. If it hadn't happened by the end of the week, Estella and I were prepared to tell you that you were a nice faux couple, and would make a lovely genuine one as well," Felipe says. 

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft responds weakly. 

"After the first email, it came to my attention that Mycroft Holmes was not married; indeed some of his coworkers called him the Ice Man. When you emailed me back I was a bit confused. Then when Estella and I came, we quickly realized you and Gregory were not actually a couple. But we could tell the two of you spent all week dancing around each other, so we're glad you're together."

"You knew we were lying? How?" Greg questions. 

"It was obvious," answers Estella patiently. "Felipe and I are married, we know what to look for. There were small details here and there that gave you away."

"Yet you agreed to sign the alliance?"

"In spite of your lies, Mr. Holmes, Estella and I liked both you and Gregory. Besides, the alliance is beneficial for both our respective nations," Felipe responds. 

Mycroft doesn't have an answer for that. Fortunately, Gregory recovers faster. "Thank you. We both appreciate your patience and understanding with us, and your tenaciousness to pursue the alliance in spite of our mistakes."

"Now, let's eat," the Queen says. As everyone eats a hush descends on the room, which is finally broken by Estella questioning, "So when will you and Mycroft get married for real, Gregory?"

Poor Gregory chokes on his tea, grabbing a napkin as his eyes stream. Once he is recovered, he stutters "Oh, um, we haven't really talked about it."

He glances at Mycroft, face clearly conveying 'Help me!' Mycroft doesn't. Instead he shoots Gregory a look of his own, a heated look considering the others in the room. "Yes, Gregory, do tell. When will we be married for real?"

"Ummmm-" 

Mycroft takes pity on Gregory. He takes his hand and sinks down onto one knee. "Gregory Lestrade, in the past five years that I've known you, I've fallen head over heels for you. Pretending to date you these past two weeks was amazing, and I never want to give you up; never want to see you leave. Will you marry me for real this time, Gregory Lestrade?"

Gregory says absolutely nothing, just stares at him with wide eyes. This worries Mycroft, so he starts to ramble. "I texted your son this morning and spoke with your daughter to see if they found the idea offensive. Both of them seemed okay with it, but of course ultimately it is your decision Gregory."

"You spoke with my kids?"

"Was that overstepping my boundaries? I just wanted to be sure they would be okay with the idea of their father getting remarried to another man."

"No! I mean yes! Ugh, no you didn't overstep boundaries and yes I will marry you. Two weeks is an astoundingly short time period, but I've known you for years. I love you, Mycroft."

"And I you, Gregory." Greg pulls Mycroft to his feet and kisses him soundly. "By the way, the ring on your finger can be your engagement ring, if that's acceptable."

"Yeah, sure," Greg says, connecting their lips once more. Greg's phone sounds within his pocket, which both men ignore. Then it goes off again. Mycroft grabs it as it rings, laughing and saying, "It looks like John's grown more impatient in these last two weeks."

Greg laughs too. "This is familiar," he quips before answering the phone. By the time he hangs up, he is grinning ear to ear. "Sherlock and John just got engaged, too."

"I know, Sherlock and I spoke this morning in regards to the impending engagement as well."

"Did they even date? They couldn't have, John just discovered Sherlock liked him last night!"

"When have you ever known my brother to do things the way other people expect? Now let's sit and eat, Gregory, for we have many things to celebrate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes: I will absolutely be writing the wedding as the epilogue. That will be the final chapter of Temporary Husbands. With the epilogue I'll post two more story ideas I have floating around, soon to be posted. 
> 
> Also, I know Greg and Mycroft and John and Sherlock probably wouldn't end up married so quickly. But I'm looking at it as, they've liked each other years before the story started, and only chose to act on it now. Plus, John and Sherlock have lived together for years, they don't really need to date to know they want to spend the rest of their lives together.


	22. Happy Wedding Day, Brother Mine

"Do you, Mycroft Edwin Holmes, take Gregory Antoine Lestrade to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Mycroft answers, squeezing Gregory's hand as he gazes into his eyes. 

"And do you, Gregory Antoine Lestrade, take Mycroft Edwin Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Greg answers, smiling at Mycroft peacefully. 

"Do you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take John Hamish Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

A very long, very awkward pause, which is broken by Mycroft casually throwing an elbow into Sherlock's ribs. "Oof!" Sherlock protests. "Sorry, I was recording everything for permanent residency in my Mind Palace. I do."

John laughs, then sobers as he's asked "And do you, John Hamish Watson, take William Sherlock Scott Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do, Mind Palace and all," John answers. He and Sherlock dissolve in giggles, at least until John says to Sherlock, "We can't giggle, it's our wedding day!"

The preacher stares at them like they're crazy, but says, "You may kiss each other," so they do. Mycroft has the presence of mind to pull out his umbrella before Gregory moves in to kiss him, popping it open so they can kiss without being watched. However, Gregory throws himself at Mycroft with such abandon Mycroft staggers and is forced to drop his umbrella to accommodate Gregory, so the photographer does get a nice picture of their first kiss as a married couple after all. 

When they pull apart again, both married couples turn to face the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mr. Mycroft Holmes, and Mr. and Mr. Sherlock Holmes." The crowd goes wild. They actually get a standing ovation, led by Sally Donovan and Phil Anderson, surprisingly enough. (It had taken a lot of fights to convince Sherlock to allow them to be in attendance, but Greg had stood firm, so he won that battle.)

They move on to the reception, and Mycroft finds himself smiling blissfully at everyone, Gregory at his side. He shakes hand after hand, accepting congratulations from the Queen of England, Felipe and Estella -who flew in just to see their wedding- along with each and every one of his coworkers. Several of Gregory's coworkers shake his hand and offer congratulations as well, including his boss, Detective Inspector Dimmock, and of course Sally and Phil. Mrs. Hudson shakes both couples' hands, patting the cheeks of Greg and John in congratulations. Then come the people Mycroft has never met, but knows due to CCTV. Harry Watson, sprung from rehab for this one special day- which may or may not have been due to a miscommunication with the rehabilitation director which caused the man to believe that he would be fired if Harry was not released for the day. But if John were to ask, Mycroft would claim innocence- Angelo, Molly Hooper, and Mike Stamford. 

Mycroft's parents are in line too, and he and Gregory get hugged/strangled within an inch of their lives by his mother, who is sobbing inelegantly because "Both my boys married on the same day!" Then she moves on to Sherlock and John, who are equally unprepared for her tears. Sherlock looks terrified, but a well-aimed elbow from his husband ensures he at least hugs her back. 

Gregory's children round out the line. "Uncle Mycroft, are you my second daddy now?" Greg's daughter asks, hurling herself at him like a little whirlwind. 

"Only if you want me to be," he answers cautiously. 

"Yeah! New daddy!" 

"What am I, chopped liver?" Gregory inquires as he pulls his daughter into his arms. 

"Yep!" 

Gregory pulls a tragic face. "Even my own daughter doesn't love me."

"New daddy loves you!" Greg's daughter shrieks as Mycroft kisses Gregory. She clambers down, running off with cries of "Uncle Sherlock! I got a new Uncle and new Daddy all in the same day!" She tackles him, and Greg relaxes knowing she is in good hands with John nearby. 

Greg's son pulls his attention away by hugging him. "Congratulations, Dad. I'm so glad to see you happy. Congratulations, Mycroft. Treat my Dad well." To Mycroft's shock, Gregory's son pulls him in for a hug. 

As they settle in for the reception meal, Mycroft's phone chimes. The text says simply "Detective Inspector? Dear me, Mr. Holmes, dear me." Mycroft grimaces. 

"What is it?" Greg asks, leaning into Mycroft. 

"Moriarty sends his congratulations."

He switched phones with Sherlock, who has also gotten a text. Sherlock's is a lot less formal. "Called it! Congrats to you and your pet, my little virgin. Remember: I promised to burn the heart out of you-you may want to hide John away. Maybe tie him to your bed?"

They return phones, and to Mycroft's chagrin, have to endure speeches prior to eating. Ironically enough, the married couples were all each other's best men. Greg was John's best man, and vice versa, while Mycroft was Sherlock's best man and vice versa. 

Thankfully, it is Gregory who starts out the speeches. "John, from the very moment you walked into Sherlock's life I was thankful for you. At first, I was a bit disconcerted when you walked onto the crime scene of 'The Study in Pink' as you so aptly named it on your blog. But then, right in the middle of yet another harsh statement, Sherlock looked to you for guidance and asked, 'Not good?' Right in that moment I knew you were absolutely perfect for Sherlock; after all, who else would he listen to? John, you took a man who we had all hoped would one day be a good man and did more than we could ever dream to achieve that. You're a good friend, and I think you'll make an even better husband. Good luck with your new life as a Consulting Detective's husband." 

John stands and hugs Greg. "Thanks for that," he whispers. Greg sits as John starts his speech. "Right, so like Greg said, we met at a crime scene. We became fast friends, mainly because he was one of the few people I could complain to about Sherlock who would just roll their eyes and not jump in with their own insults. Now you've ended up with Mycroft, who is about ten times more annoying, and he's kind of intimidating, so good luck. Remember that Budweiser and I are here for you when he is annoying." John sits down amidst chuckles. 

Mycroft stands up next. He has this speech memorized, though it may be the second hardest thing he's ever done, only beat by his confession of love to his now-husband. "Sherlock, growing up I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I considered you my responsibility. I made it my job to look out for you, even though you never wanted me to. But it was engrained in my nature to care for you and to protect you. When you were little, I protected you from your bullies. As a young adult, I protected you from yourself. As an adult, I protected you from everyone, because I thought everyone would let us down. I taught you that caring was not an advantage, because I saw how it hurt you to be rejected so often, so I taught you it didn't matter. Then John Watson entered your life. At first, I intended to protect you from him, too. I wanted to scare him off, but unfortunately John doesn't get frightened easily." Knowing chuckles from the crowd, so Mycroft pauses before continuing, "Fortunately for me however, John is a soldier who is more than capable of protecting my brother from everything life can throw at him. I'm passing the mantle to you, John. Good luck taking care of my baby brother." John smiles and nods. "And congratulations, Sherlock, on finding someone to love you."

Sherlock stands up, shooting Mycroft an odd look. "Right. I don't know how I'm going to top that." Another laugh travels through the crowds. "Right. Mycroft, as a child I hated you for your interference, and as an adult I cannot honestly say I felt kinder toward you." Greg begins massaging his brow. 

John interrupts to hiss, "What are you doing? We talked about this! You're supposed to say nice things!"

"I am!" Sherlock answers. Louder he asks, "Now where was I?"

"You hated me," Mycroft answers. 

"Oh, yes. So I hated Mycroft for a large percentage of my life. He was obnoxious and interfering, pretentious and arrogant." Mycroft slips down a bit in his chair. Maybe he can disappear during Sherlock's speech? "Noting this, it was fair to say that I never believed this day would come, partly because I thought everyone hated Mycroft, and partly because I didn't realize I am apparently the closest thing to a friend Mycroft has, and thus the only logical choice for his best man. But here we are."

He swings now so he's staring at Greg. "Once Geoff showed up during the Baskerville case, I realized Mycroft had sunk his claws into you further than I imagined. Then after you showed up at work with a concussion and I spoke with Mycroft, I realized he had feelings for you, Geoff."

"His name is Greg!" John says. 

"Yes, that's what I said. I did not deduce that Graham returned those feelings until he called me to confess, and when I say called me I mean he called John and I picked up the phone instead. But that's another story. What I'm trying to communicate with you, and most likely failing, is that in spite of hating my brother for most of my life, I am pleased for him today. I owe a lot to you, Mycroft, including my husband and my life. It is only because of you and the very qualities I despised that have me here today. You were a good big brother-and I don't know why I used the past tense because you are still my brother and you are still a good one- and I know you will make a good husband and father, because you've already succeeded once. Finally, Greg, congratulations on melting the heart of the Ice Man and teaching him caring can be an advantage. It is with great pride and joy I welcome you to the Holmes family. Congratulations, you two."

Mycroft lurches to his feet and grabs Sherlock, pulling him into an awkward but heartfelt hug. "Thank you. That was beautiful."

Sherlock, the self-proclaimed sociopath, pats his back. "You're welcome. I meant every word. Also, there's one other matter I wanted to address, but it's best done between us. You're not fat, Mycroft. You used to be, but that was twenty-five years ago. I'm sorry I picked on you and made you believe untrue things about yourself."

"I love you, Sherlock. This day is full of some of the hardest things I've ever done."

"Yes, it is," Sherlock agreed. "But you don't have to worry, Mycroft. John will take care of me, and Greg will take care of you. We found two wonderful men who love us in spite of the whole world thinking we were unlovable. We'll be okay, you and me both."

"I know. Happy wedding day, Brother Mine."

"Happy wedding day, Mycroft."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's the end! (Sorry for the long wait, it literally took me that long to figure out John's wedding speech.) 
> 
> I want to dedicate this story to my youngest sister, without whose support and ongoing suggestions when I got stuck, this story would not have been posted. (Ironically enough, I hated this first chapter when I first wrote it.)
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to everyone who commented, kudoed, or otherwise just read the story. You guys are the reason why I'm writing. 
> 
> And last but not least: future fics! I have one in the works, a multichapter where Sherlock and Moriarty end up raising children. They attend school together, with both fathers blissfully unaware until the children get together for a play date. If you're interested let me know and I can comment on here to tell you when I post the first chapter.


End file.
